Seinen Kakumei Utena
by gorgeousshutin
Summary: "The revolution succeeded; it crumbled afterwards only because those whose lives got revolutionized did not follow up on the revolutionary success," said the Bride, her words setting their closed hearts aflame. "This time, will you help us help you?" WARNING: Parts of this work contain potentially disturbing material. ALSO: Check my PROFILE URL for side story updates.
1. Flowers Adrift

******WARNING:** Parts of this work contain**depictions of** **transphobia**, controversial shoujo fantasy **t****rans situation **that****** in no way reflects real life trans people**, and** misogynic **magic attack leading to **fo****rced masculinization**

**Seinen Kakumei Utena **(it's Seinen, NOT Josei), crossing with Penguindrum starting Part 2  
**Rating:** T for mature and sensitive subject matters.  
**Timeline: **10 years post Revolution, few weeks post Fate Train Transfer  
**Notable "Mysteries" Covered**: Nemuro Hall, Child Broiler, Million Swords, Fate Train, Shadow Girls, Invisible People  
**Summary (or rather, Excerpt)**: "The revolution succeeded; it crumbled afterwards only because those whose lives got revolutionized did not follow up on the revolutionary success," said the Bride, her words setting their closed hearts aflame. "This time, will you help us help you?"

After what seems like an eternity of non-fic writing, I have again written something in tribute of this timeless shoujo anime classic. This is a work dedicated to the passionate, wonderful people at In the Rose Garden, which even now remains the coolest place for Utena fans to hang out online.

More updated versions of the fic at my **Blogspot (see my profile), Archive of Our Own, and ****LiveJournal.**  
**Please C&C if you like this~**

**Seinen Kakumei Utena**

Utena and Penguindrum characters belong to their various owners.

**WARNING:** Parts of this work contain **depictions of** **transphobia**, **controversial** shoujo fantasy** trans situation **that** in no way reflects real life trans people**, and **misogynic** magic attack leading to** forced masculinization**

**Part One: Flowers Adrift**

"I don't suppose you can count how many flowers are floating in there?" asked the petite stylist, her lushly manicured fingertips working non-stop as they undid the rollers from the model's hair; thick, springy curls were sent flouncing vibrantly about.

Without lifting her indulgent gaze – currently focused upon the slim thighs revealed underneath the stylist's frill-adorned black skorts – the seated but still obviously glamazonian model pursed her red-painted lips. "Forty-nine thousand."

" . . . that exact?"

"I don't have to count; the director's assistant showed me the receipt when the bouquets arrived."

They were steps above a rooftop patio, one that was rapidly turning into a shallow pool from a spraying hose. Orange roses, cut from right underneath the sepal, drifted atop the water's glassy surface, glowing under the glaring spotlights as they glided nimbly by the half-submerged furnishings. The otherworldly setting was contrasted against the worldly downtown night view to eerie effects, and it was amidst such eeriness that the model-in-grooming was set to work her magic for the camera.

"While wooing you, of course." Having finished hairspray-ing the model's now artfully-pinned curly updo – every orange curl contorted to resembled the roses in the pool – the stylist let out a mock-pained moan as she pulled the salon cape off of the model, revealing the crystal-studded couture gown draping over the latter's curves like a sheen of glittering scales. "Either way, you could've at least pretended to count with me. Even after all these years, you still suck at being playfully romantic, Juri."

"Not playful, no . . ." reaching back to pull her stylist's maroon-haired head to herself in one suave, almost gallant motion, Arisugawa Juri purred huskily into the other woman's shell-like ear, "but still plenty romantic enough to keep my little Shirori with me, I hope."

"It's unprofessional to flirt with the stylist right in front of the crew, Juri," chided Takatsuki Shiori, even as she leaned into the bigger woman's embrace with much familiarity.

They had been close since childhood, since back when closeness knew no deeper name other than friendship, and beauty held little meaning cause love, love was an icky notion to the children they were, something to giggle over for fun. With adolescence came the hormonal boys, came their growing interests in the girls, and the cruel distinction between the attractive girls and the less attractive ones. Cracks grew between stunning Juri and plain Shiori, resulting in much mind-games, much coldness, much hurting via faceless, irrelevant boys that perverted two close-knitted girls into bitter enemies. And such enmity may well have followed the two into adulthood, if not for the series of (in hindsight, highly fantastical) events in high school that led to both Juri's secret love for Shiori and Shirori's repressed obsession over Juri getting simultaneously exposed. Then came the denial, the violent conflicts and wild heartbreaks; and when those had left them all burned out, the two were left mutually resigned to the fact that they were both way too into each other for them not to be together. Thus together they stayed, through high school and college, up to where they were now here at this flowery scene: a model and a stylist, both currently working under the same modeling agency – the internationally renowned Aranjia.

"And speaking of being professional . . ." even as her delicate hand wandered about Juri's supple form, Shiori's flowing murmur started slowing into a more hesitant pace, "I'm feeling something that's a little too budging on a supermodel of your calibre. I think it's time you start on this protein-fibre diet that Yuuko -" The hissing snort from Juri cut her off like the sound of a whipping foil – a sound she has since associated with their volatile youth on their fencing team back at Ohtori, the one she mustered up the courage to join after that highly fantastical event, the one Juri said was a -

"You and your obsession with being thin," muttered her Juri of here and now, in a voice showing tints of the defensiveness that Shiori remembered so well from their old days. "I think you've been hanging about Yuuko and Aiko a little too much around the pantry, trading your outrageous dieting tips and getting your views further and further warped-"

"You _know_ this is not about my views or how I want you to look," hissed Shiori from underneath her breath (they were surrounded by the crew after all), her hands since retracted from Juri's now rigid body. "I don't know what the clients are saying behind our backs, but the office boy has let slip that the bitches ruling the women's department have been bitching about your figure during their meeting, said how you've upped two sizes since they first signed you on ten years ago, back when - "

"Upping two sizes in ten year is bad?"

"Juri!" It took the young stylist all her control to keep her agitated voice whispery. "You're not doing dishwasher commercials: you model for couture brands and walk for major fashion weeks every season! You're not just competing against other models your age – though a good many of them are slimmer than you've ever been – you're competing against girls as young as fourteen but all hitting six feet! I mean, look at _those_!" She gestured subtly towards the models' dressing tent, illuminated from inside like some giant lantern, within which a trio of girlish, stick-thin silhouettes were seen undressing via stretchy, sinuous movements that made them appear even more elongated than they already were. Juri arched a fine brow at their showy display.

"I see they've got some very nice stick insects to go with the flowers."

Growing impatient with Juri's counterproductive defensiveness, Shiori darkened her voice. "You studied fashion design, Juri - you know how clothes hang on _budges_."

Appearing pensive (it had been a long time since Shiori had cut her with words), Juri stood up and away from Shiori. Stepping languidly up towards the edge of the patio turned pool, she kicked nimbly at its cluttered surface, sending floating roses adrift to reveal mirror-smooth water, and her own image as reflected upon it.

She still was beautiful, of course: beautiful enough to turn heads on any street she walked, and get hit on by men at every function she attended. But the hourglass figure of her teens – sculpted by the vigorous fencing sessions she had time/energy/money for back then – had since broadened in the middle; her face, once small and chiseled, had since gone rounded (although makeup by Shiori was already keeping it defined). Decked in couture, she looked more award-show actress than high fashion model – the latter being her_ job_.

Shiori had by now stepped up from behind, the reflection of her trim build seemingly breakable upon the rose-framed pool. Juri closed her eyes.

"Maybe it's about time for me to quit and start on that label we've been talking about for so long," she finally said. "God knows we have enough sketches between the two of us to fill at least two seasons."

"But not the funds," Shiori pointed out, prompting Juri to open her eyes again. "I've done the calculations: even if we'd successfully pulled strings to have the models, the directors, and the marketing in place at rock-bottom rates, we still ain't got enough to cover production, retails and other base costs. You don't want us to borrow excessively from banks and end up in debt, so that option's out." There was a noticeable pause, before she spoke on at a more cautious pace. "Now, if you could reconcile with your parents . . ." her words trailed off at Juri's now frosty expression.

"We're not asking for money from people who screwed us over and that's final."

Knowing Juri, and knowing the reason behind her stubborn grudge against the wealthy Arisugawas (who could've effortlessly funded their label beyond its first year), Shiori hung her head. "Then it will take us at least another three years earning and saving at the current pace for us to even jumpstart our label, without considering how to keep it running beyond the quarter should stocks stall."

Back straightening (and actually looking leaner for a moment), Juri's expression regained some that pristine determination of her youth – the brilliance of which having once drove a younger, duller Shiori into the pits of self-pity. "We will just have to spend less in the coming months. Try to save up enough to get our label launched within two seasons before our designs get too outdated -"

"We've already forced down spending to the bare min," interjected Shiori, hating herself for having to dull Juri's bright thunder with such tarnishing reality. "All our social-wear are from your shows and shoots – some modified to fit me – and we're still staying at that same unit we've been renting since college. We don't even have coffee outside unless while chatting with people in the industry. And I know you're making do on just fast food when working away from town, even though I told you to stick to the non-processed stuff regardless of price." Price. A word that had meant nothing to the Juri from ten years ago, back before her rift with her rich parents; a word that now had power enough over her as to be taboo. "Still, modeling in high-fashion, you earn much more than a second-rate stylist like me." What a difference money could make: that a glorious angel could be reduced to this weary showgirl without the conveniences, the _pride_ provided by wealth. "I know how much you hate the idea of dieting, Juri, just like how you hate doing all these things other people had to do that you deem to be beneath you." How cruel it was of her to have launched those vicious attacks against Juri back in high school, to tarnish that golden, _transient_ youth with such ugly memories – all because of her own unsightly pettiness. "But we've both grown up now." Away from Ohtori, from the infuriating machinations but comforting dorms, their days were now filled with worries over trite matters, like rent and bills and taxes and future prospects. "We have no choice but to make compromises." Away from magical Ohtori, the machinations still were there – powered by worldly hands this time – keeping them bound as powerless cogs in their world. "Cause life isn't going to miraculously get easier for us just because we believe it will – we're in the real world now." A world that a born heiress like Juri should never have had to face, if not for getting dragged down by a commonplace _bitch_ such as herself.

A hand clasped onto her stooped shoulder; Juri's hand, big and strong for a woman but still so fine-boned, turning her around such that they faced each other again (when had she turned away?). The much taller woman had _that_ familiar indulgent look in her green eyes, the look that Shiori had (blind-sighted-ly) mistaken for pity in her twisted youth, the look that now warmed (yet also pained) her more than anything else in this world.

"Shiroi, I-"

"FIVE MINUTES TO TEST SHOOT!"

The blasting voice from the microphone cut off whatever Juri was about to say, as the submerged patio's floor lights snapped on along with the overhead Fresnels aimed at the water, such that the many roses floating about now resembled clusters of vibrant flames engulfing the elegant patio furniture. The trio of skinny models had since exited their dressing tent, and had already stepped into the water. Yet they remained shadow-cloaked from where they strutted right in front of a glaring light source. By their sleek silhouettes, Shiroi could only guessed that they might be wearing lingerie, along with large artificial wings crafted to resemble those of a butterfly, a cicada, and a hummingbird, respectively. Already they were practicing their poses, contorting their thin, elongated bodies to dramatic, almost agonizing effects.

Mind back in the present, Shiori quickly checked Juri's hair and makeup for any potential flaws, before guiding Juri down the steps leading into the glamorized wetness.

"Watch your steps: you'd be walking on water on high heels," cautioned Shiori, who herself wore water boots.

"And how much more difficult is this compared to everything else we've been through this past decade?" muttered Juri, stance assured as she stepped into the shallow pool via platform shoes so high, she actually looked like she was walking _atop_ the shallow water in ripples of rose-coated waves. Even though her steps appeared effortlessly graceful (thanks to her athletic coordination), Shiori (holding Juri's hand like the makeshift servant girl she now was) could sense that tenseness in Juri invisible to the eye. No doubt she was again dwelling on how damned difficult everything has been for them since leaving school and entering this too-real world, where the adult life that they once hoped would grant them the power of choice had turned into little more than animalistic survival. "To think I was the one who got you into all this . . ."

"Wasn't it the other way around?" asked Shiori, voice low and somewhat timid. "One of the reason I followed you into the fencing team was so I could have a chance at your locket while you were changing after practice. I was the one who got hysterical after seeing my picture in it, shouting those awful things at you in the locker room that got those gossips going. And then, having gotten dumped by some jock I was seeing then, I was the one who got drunk and went into your dorm room that very night. After all the shouting and fighting that turned into . . . something else, everyone in the building knew by morning what we've done and what we've . . . become." She was blushing furiously by then, from the shame and the remembered arousal: how Juri had conquered her senses with that strong, beautiful body; how that sheer passion had forced her to admit the base attraction she harbored beneath her jealous front. "When words got to your parents, it was no wonder that they called up my mother, and-"

"They stopped being my parents the day they got you disowned by your mother," stated Juri in that cold, resolute voice that allowed no argument. "Mrs. Takatsuki loved you more than anything in this world. If it wasn't for those hypocrites calling her up and making those vulgar accusations, she'd never-"

"Mama's choice of reaction was her own," said Shiori, her voice dead even as she willed more life into it for Juri's sake. "Her getting into that accident afterwards was also just . . . that. There's no need to blame other people for what happened," no need to make her Juri feel even worse than she already did, "cause it won't bring her back anyway."

Juri held onto her anger (and Shiori knew it was for her sake). "They got us kicked out of Ohtori with their babbling. We were _sixteen_, Shiori, and they left us with no relatives, no savings, and no permanent address. We almost ended up on the streets!"

"But we didn't," soothed Shiori, her voice wistful with memories, "for you then signed the deal with Aranjia and started modeling professionally to keep us afloat. I couldn't have afforded college if not for you working then to support us both." A genuine, albeit bittersweet, smile curled her small lips. "You had to drag out your studies because of your erratic work schedule, while I actually had the gall to switch majors at a time like that-"

"You had to switch because you got burned out from waiting tables at that damned pub!" Juri cut her off, sounding sorry and pained and so full of self-directed guilt. "That was what messed up your studies. I should've taken on more jobs back then. You shouldn't have had to work surrounded by those-"

"TWO MINUTES TO TEST SHOOT!" blasted the microphone, and Shiori found herself actually relieved by its grating sound.

"Just focus on the shoot for now. Juri, remember what the director wanted: that you channel this 'mermaid of material excess', and glide by the pool with intense, yet inhuman wanting in your eyes of green-"

"Shiori," persisted Juri, "I got you into this." This being the path of no return, a path away from the stable family, stable life that Shiori otherwise should have attained. "I'll do anything, even ridiculous things, to get you everything you want."

"I followed you into this," replied Shiori, large eyes reflecting the glittering lights from all around. "Because following you, I know everything I want, I'll have." Knowing that Juri would want to kiss her now (and thus ruining her painstakingly applied makeup along with the shoot), she made light of the situation on purpose. "Fitting that we'd be having this conversation in a pool of roses."

Juri, who knew and understood what she was doing, went along with her and laughed lightly. "You don't see roses with quite this shade of orange every day." Thus the inane smalltalk began.

"Orange like your hair. And aren't their petals still pretty firm considering how long they've been soaking in water?"

"It's some rare, hardy species they ordered through that new flower boutique down at the Phoenix Court Plaza. The director insisted on something that can last even being cut and drowned. I think he got what he wanted."

"I know which one you're talking about. It's the expensive-looking one that sells mostly roses, right? We've passed by it a few times since it opened last month, and every time there were some suited gents inside buying something. I think the potted plants around the agency's office are all from that place. I remember it's got some rather tacky French name . . . Château . . . Princière?"

"Château Princesse," Juri squinted her eyes at the sign on a vehicle parked right beside the fantastical set. "Their flower van is right there at the . . . corner . . ."

Not yet noticing the strange manner by which Juri's voice had died down, Shiori studied the glittery pink flower van, its design looking compact yet sturdy. "Oh, I didn't notice that. Château Princesse . . . wait." Abruptly, she discovered a glaring peculiarity in what she saw. "Why is a van up here? It's the rooftop."

Juri did not speak, but had clasped her hand in a tight, cool grip. Shiori spoke on, her own voice starting to cool as well.

"It's parked under a ray of . . . spotlight? But where is the equipment? There's nothing above it but . . . the . . . sky . . ." She felt Juri's hand sweating – or was it her own hand sweat slicking Juri's palm? "And where had those skinny models gone? I thought they were in the pool with us-"

"The plate," Juri's spoke up as though she did not hear a word of her fear-fueled babbling. "Read the van's plate." Shiori did.

And she saw.

"THIRTY SECONDS TO TEST SHOOT!"

Normally, Shiori the stylist would have stepped away from the set by now so Juri the model can start posing. Not this time. Shiori could not have let go of Juri even if she had wanted to: her entire body had since gone rigid.

The pink van bore a plate with the letters "MIKAGE", headed by a black rose motif.

"Mikage, Mikage Souji; I must've forgotten this name for a lifetime," said Juri, her voice uncharacteristically hollow, almost airy. "I thought if I held onto my memories, they'd last beyond that time, beyond the ends of that world. But this . . . this I've forgotten since way before-"

"Black rose," Shiori's own voice was as a whistle of the night wind, "your sword, my duel. I went to his seminar, and he gave me the idea." Tears threatened to escape her wide eyes, as she realized how even in shock from dark memories returning, she still was blaming others for her own faults and inadequacies. "I stole the sword in your heart so I could fight like you did, so I could have what I wanted." She still was excusing herself, even now, for hurting Juri, for being jealous. "I fought against that handsome girl I always saw you with, the one with hair pink like Mikage's, the one you told me had triggered the Revo-"

"Revolution." The word growled its way out from between Juri's clenched teen like a bound beast breaking free. Suddenly, she laughed, and Shiori could see Juri's self-assuredness fast returning. "I see now." Stance panther-fierce now, Juri manoeuvred herself between the ominous car and shell-shocked Shiori. "Just like the old days."

"J-Juri?" whimpered Shiori from behind her taut back.

"I heard and I forgot. My sources at the time had told me rumors about Miki's father, about who he was about to marry . . . to think that the enchantment could touch even grownups, even those outside the Academy." As Juri spoke, Shiori gradually came to realize how she wasn't speaking to her. "So this is why life hasn't been easy even away from Ohtori, because even though the views had changed, the one showing us the views had not. Father and Mother . . . what miraculous treasures did that monster show them, that they would even go so far to crush their own daughter? What was really behind that so-called accident that took Mrs. Takatsuki's life?"

"Juri?"

"The crew of this shoot, the thin models, the people at the agency . . . by what strings did he puppeteer them into this elaborate set up? Where had they gone? Are they even real? Or are they merely images, just like those baseball players showing up playing a game right in the middle of a Council meeting, or those shadows on the wall gossiping about Ruka's death?"

"Juri?" Shiori's cold fingers were digging hard enough into the other woman's bare shoulders to leave prints behind. "Juri?"

"Shiori," at last Juri addressed her, in a dramatic, resonating tone obviously meant for a third party yet unseen to hear, "I know now that life can never be easy for us in this world. Nothing we do, no miracles we make, could ever change that, because this real world, just like Ohtori, is also _his_ world." Eyes on the illuminated van, parked forty-five degrees against their point of view such that its plate and sign both were visible to them, "Isn't that right, Himemiya?"

"TEST SHOOT BEGINS!" blasted the microphone (behind which no one was present present), as the van started rotating as if on a moving stage, thus revealing the one Juri had been speaking to (no, more like against) all along.

Out in the world away from Ohtori, Himemiya Anthy bore little resemblance to that dull, almost nerdy girl from Shiroi's memory. With her glasses gone and her startlingly rich tresses unbound, the dark-featured young woman looked the epitome of East Indian beauty; a beauty in full flower, Shiori suddenly realized, as the one in front of them had further blossomed as per the passing of years. Without makeup, and dressed only in a loose scarlet tunic that would have made lesser women look inappropriately under-dressed, Himemiya instead appeared primitively exquisite – like an exotic wild flower, looking all the lovelier without the banal constrains of pots and fences and hothouses and gardens. Out of a corner of her eye, Shiori saw Juri subconsciously raising a hand as if to touch her own foundation-coated face, before quickly forcing the hand back down. Standing demurely upon crossed feet (like a model posing in this fashion shoot gone supernatural), Himemiya Anthy smiled at them, her expression benignly serene, and Shiori found herself and Juri both tensing up, for every expression they had seen on the malevolent Rose Bride of old looked just as benignly serene. Undeterred by their rigid guardedness, the (divine? demonic?) apparition stepped up to the flooded patio on sandaled feet, and started walking towards them _atop_ the floating flowers.

"Juri-sempai, Shiori-sempai, I meant neither of you harm," said Anthy, even as Shiori cowered further behind Juri. "You see, I came seeking your help."

"You're deranged if you think we're going back to help that monster you call your brother," Juri stood her ground. "No matter what powers the Rose Bride might have, I know you cannot make people do anything they don't want to, or you wouldn't need resorting to manipulation every time back in Ohtori." Still moving steadily towards them, Anthy's smile further sweetened with something akin to indulgence (or could it be veiled condescendence?).

"Making people do things they don't want to goes quite against my nature. It's unlikely I'll ever do anything of the sort nowadays, especially not for my brother; not with Utena being so disapproving of-"

"Utena is with you?" Juri almost barked out the question, right as Anthy stopped in front of her, smilingly unfazed. "Since when?"

"Since the day I found her, of course," answered Anthy, in the tone an educator reserved for educating the mentally handicapped. Face twisted in rage, Juri raised a hand as if about to slap Anthy, before stopping herself as she probably remembered who she was up against. Juri looked like she was about to speak, but Anthy beat her to it. "I did not 'hide' Utena after Revolution, as you've so obviously been thinking, nor did my brother; nor did we make you or anyone else forget anything about the Victor who revolutionized your lives for the better – it's something you've all been doing very well on your own. Out of sight, out of mind, such is human nature."

Juri's cheek reddened as if struck. "I didn't . . ."

"You didn't forget, Juri-sempai," Anthy cut her off, her once-soft voice now showing steely sharpness. "I was the one who had to forget against my will. One of the aftereffects of the duel called Revolution was an enchantment meant to hinder my brother's effort to search out the Victor and possibly enact retribution. Every time he was to think about details that might lead him to Utena: her family name, her age, her background, even something as insipid as her hair color, pain akin to ones from hateful swords stabbing shall assail his head. And should he even mention her to another, by word by writing or by any other means, his heart shall scorch as if burned by charcoal. I, being linked to my brother by blood, was likewise affected, and the enchantment on me could not be undone until I was to meet with her in this outside world."

"Then how did you manage to meet her?" Shiori, who had been listening timidly all along, could not help but ask. Anthy kept her increasingly cold eyes on an increasingly uncomfortable Juri.

"He, being loveless, dismissed Utena as a dropout from his world to avoid the enchantment's wrath; I, being in love, persisted on searching." She paused to take a deep breath, as if even her now was emotional. "It would be years later before I was to discover how Utena had merely been rushed to the neighboring town's hospital right after Revolution; registered under her own name, even. Had people on the Council – had anyone at all – bothered to look for her then, she would certainly be found; and I, with my senses attuned to each and every one of the Duelists, would have found her accordingly. Why did you not look for her, Juri-sempai?" That last question punctured Juri's defenses like a sword thrust, and the taller woman actually doubled over slightly as if from pain. "That game of squash right before the end, the joke about having her picture in your locket . . . had all that been but a mindless farce? Had Tenjou Utena truly meant so little to you, to all of you?"

"Don't blame Juri," Shiori managed, sounding much weaker than she wanted to. "She got caught up in a lot of things soon after the Revolution." Like their rocky relationship coming into fruition, then into light, then into the public scrutiny that robbed them of everything they had once took for granted . . . some good the Victor's Revolution was to them. But then she finally _had_ Juri, for good; loving, loyal Juri, who was more valuable to her than any private school education any dream job in this world . . .

Anthy made no indication of having even heard her, focused as she was upon guilt-ridden Juri. "Unaware of my searching for her, Utena moved about out of . . . necessities. It took me seven years before I finally did manage to meet her face to face. And by that time, the damage had already been done."

"The . . . damage?" asked Juri, voice brittle.

"No one exits my brother's games unchanged," stated Anthy, as she closed her eyes in apparent pain for one merciful moment. Behind her, the pink surface of the Mikagemobile (as Shiori had come to label it/him) glinted darkly under the spotlight. "Utena now suffers from the kind of damage most in this world would consider irreversible. It would take more than my power to have it completely undone. Thus why I've come seeking your help." When those eyes opened anew, Shiori's heart throbbed at realizing that she now had been included in her merciless gaze. "Both of your help."

"Hold!" protested Juri, regaining some of her fierce protectiveness. "Shiori had nothing to do with this! She barely even knew-"

"Shiori-sempai had been both duelist and bride in the games," countered Anthy, and Juri was silenced like a radio turned off. "She has as much to do with this as you and the rest of the Student Council – all of whom had readily agreed to give aid to Utena." Shiori saw Juri visibly wilting at those words, and something inside her – something that drew strength from her petty, shady nature – bubbled through her fear and to the surface.

"Maybe you should get your brother to help Utena too, Anthy-san" she heard herself saying, darkly, even. "He was the one responsible for using you to hurt everyone of us, her included. And he has power, if that's what you're after."

Instead of being offended, Anthy actually appeared impressed by Shiori daring to make a pointed jab, as her lips now curled in a semi-approving smirk. "I haven't yet clarify my request – I am seeking everyone's help in seizing my brother's vast power and have it redirected towards reversing the damage on Utena."

Shiori and Juri both were stunned by her words. "And what will become of the Chairman after we've taken his power away?"

"By logic he would cease being," answered Anthy as if in reply to a common math problem. They could detect neither hesitation nor lingering attachment from her nonchalant voice.

"You're asking us to kill your brother to help Utena," stated Juri. Anthy, who by now had retreated back to beside the Mikagemobile without either of them noticing when (maybe she never had come forward to begin with), deepened her smile.

"The power we take from him will help more than just Utena, but others as well," she ran a delicate dark hand caressingly against the van's pink, glossy surface, "including you two."

As if on cue, LED billboards shot up to flank all sides of the rooftop, their bright screens displaying a multitude of images: a slimmed-down Juri posing as a top brand's exclusive model, Shiori's lushly painted face advertising her own makeup line, the label Juri Shiori looking resplendent with its haute couture license, Juri and Shiori at a fashion award gala, being clamored by the media, Juri and Shiori at their wedding, being accepted and blessed by all . . .

"You're offering as prize the miracles we want," murmured Shiori, scared yet also somewhat wistful. "Again."

"What damage is Utena suffering from, that you need to bait us Ohtori-style here in this world?" asked Juri, cautious even in face of the vast temptations on display. Anthy pursed her peach-colored lips pensively.

"I can take you both to her so you may see for yourself," she offered, her voice kind and reasonable. "But once you see her, there will be no backing out – you will be duty-bound to help her."

"Can your trap be any more obvious?" muttered Juri, but her stance now clearly lacked in resistance. Shiori hesitated but for a moment, before raising her manicured hand like a schoolgirl in class.

"Count us in."

Juri turned to her baffled. "Shiori!"

"We can't refuse, Juri, not when she's offering us the future we've been working towards for all these years," stated Shiori, calmly resigned now. "And I know you want to see and help Tenjou Utena, while I have no qualms about killing the Chairman for what he did to us."

"Shiori . . ."

"Your old, special friends have all agreed to help, so we might as well too. I should consider myself honored to be included."

"You won't regret coming along." Beaming, Anthy produced an electric car key (one with a black rose motif visible even at a distance), opened Mikagemobile's door, got in, and started its now purring engine. "Utena is so looking forward to seeing you both, and Chida-san makes the best rose tea for her guests."

Juri arched a fine brow. Shiori blinked.

"Chida-san?"

A flash of metallic, pink movement their eyes cannot follow, and the two women abruptly found themselves already seated at what must be the surprisingly, sterilely neat back area of the Mikagemobile flower van, from where Anthy could be seen at the driver's seat driving. The van's clear-glass windows showed flashes of light-dotted darkness moving too quick for the eyes to follow, much like how the view had been like in Akio's red convertible, back when he was speeding them towards the ends of their worlds.

"She's our landlady," replied Anthy, "the one who lent him to me. Though I still drive him around now and then, she's really the one to keep him from rusting – his rightful driver." By now, Shiori could see her almost playfully enigmatic smile from the rear-view mirror. "Much like how Juri is yours."

Before either Shiori or Juri could ask her to elaborate on that worryingly puzzling statement, the car accelerated impossibly past what should've been the top speed for any land vehicle. Light, bright as what the core of the Sun must be like, speared through the windows, engulfing their senses and burning off what tenuous hold they still had on reality. Amidst all that, Shiori thought she could hear Anthy's voice, sounding impossibly steady against the suffocating high speed, against this overwhelmingly fantastical circumstance.

"We're riding towards eternity, towards shining things, towards the power of miracles that which you both sought, and now is seeking again. Do not look away; open your eyes to the power of revolution – to the Light of the World."

Shiori looked, then cried along with Juri for one agonizingly joyful moment, before neither seeing nor hearing anything anymore as her many limited senses shut down on her all at once.

**End Part One**


	2. The Fruits That Could Have Been

**Seinen Kakumei Utena**

Utena and Penguindrum characters belong to their various owners.

**WARNING:** Parts of this work contain **depictions of** **transphobia**, **controversial** shoujo fantasy** trans situation **that** in no way reflects real life trans people**, and **misogynic** magic attack leading to** forced masculinization**

**Part Two: The Fruits That Could Have Been**

There was nothing beyond her sleep. She was sleeping the sleep of the drained, the voided. Asleep without dreams, she slumbered in the darkness after too much light, the light said to be-

". . . I've told her, again and again! I've told her not to involve everyone like this! How is this any different from what _he_ was doing? But she-"

"We've all come willingly to help you; we're the only ones who can."

Two voices, one high without being feminine, the other low and decidedly masculine, cut through the blankness of her mind, and revived in her thought possesses and memories that had lied dormant till now. Mind working anew, she began waking amidst the loudening sounds of talking.

"I don't need help! I'm fine the way I've become, and nobody in my new life knows! I-"

"Are you running away?"

" . . . just don't worry about me anymore!"

There were sounds of china breaking, of bodies slamming against wooden floor, of struggling, before a near-silence – broken but by strained breaths – ensued. The lower-pitched voice was the first she heard speaking again.

"Are you running away?"

" . . . I don't want them to think they need to feel sorry for me. Can't you understand? I don't want them to be dis-"

"They'll never be disgusted with you; not you. They'll only be disgusted with me."

" . . . don't say that."

"Whatever you want to hear, keep you head high. Did you not promise her that the two of you are to shine together in this time and place, ten years after Revolution?"

Eyes snapping open, she jolted up standing in a defensive stance – one that had been ingrained into her through the many years of fencing training from her childhood and youth – and quickly accessed her surroundings.

She was alone in a modern Victorian-style bedroom suite, one that remained decidedly feminine in spite of its sparse furnishings. Cut roses, petals pristine as the pristine walls, could be seen scattered about the desk, the window stool, and parts of what she could see through the opened bathroom door in artful disarray; it took her still-hazy vision a moment to realize how they were all subtly lacquered. Curiously, she poked at a rose with her soul sword, and found its supple petals to be crisp as eggshells . . .

"… what the _hell_?" exclaimed Arisugawa Juri, voice ending in a shout. It was indeed the blade of her spirit held in her hand, the very one Shiori had once pulled from her chest while possessed by the black rose signet, the very one Ruka had -

"Shiori?" she called out while looking frantically around the rose scattered room. "Shiori!"

A flash of light from a corner of her vision sent her whirling towards the source. It was the full-length mirror on the bedroom door, reflecting the morning sun beyond the window, along with that of her own image: curls loosened, face bare, body clad in a housedress one could sleep comfortably in. Juri was certain she could not have looked any more ridiculous wielding her renaissance-style soul sword while in this getup.

"Juri!"

With that blessed sweet sound, the mirror-door flew open as her Shiori – cleaned up and in house wear just like she was – rushed in and practically dived into her arms like a frantic bird. "You're okay! You're okay!"

"Shiori," Juri had to control her own breath to hopefully maintain her assured bearing (if she was to display even hints of uncertainty at this moment, fragile Shiori will _break_). "We're both okay."

Nodding frantically at her words, Shiori wiped the sweat and teas off her eyes. "When I woke up, I was already in some bedroom wearing these clothes. I heard you calling me, and I-". She suddenly noticed the sword in her hand. "Juri, is that-"

"My soul sword." Juri's studied the physical manifestation of her character strength with pensive eyes. "I don't even know how it came out."

Looking somewhat wistful, Shiori clasped her small hand over hers, fingertips touching the sword's handle. "It must have something to do with our very unusual ride on Himemiya-san's van." A crease appeared between her brows. "Did she know that strange light would knock us out? Why did she show it to us in the first place? She called that van 'him' . . . and Mikage's name was on the plate, along with a black rose motif. She then said this Chida-san is 'his' rightful driver, and that you're mine."

Juri snorted. "That last past has to be awkward phrasing on her-"

A startled gasp from Shiori cut off her unfinished statement. Glancing down, Juri did a double take as she saw her soul sword shrinking rapidly within her grasp. In no time at all, it had become something small enough to fit on her upturned palm – an electric car key reminiscent of the one Anthy had used on the Mikage flower van, except the rose motif is maroon-colored instead of black. They studied the transformed item in awe.

"This is . . ."

"Chu!"

Both turned towards the still open door to see the agelessly small Chu-Chu waving cutely at them from where he perched upon Himemiya Anthy's shoulder. Anthy, now looking very domesticated with her hair pinned up (albeit in a less rigid style than that of her Ohtori days) while wearing a large apron over her nondescript housedress, offered the two a sagely smile.

"A sword, a hat, an apple – a soul by any other expression still is the same soul," she said. "It's now a car key because that's what will be needed for upcoming events."

"_What_ kind of upcoming events?" asked Juri, again standing guardedly in front of Shiori to face the dark woman, whose eyes narrowed as her smile deepen. "There were also a whole bunch of question you've left unanswered even now. If you do want our help, you should-"

"We'll be talking about this over our breakfast meeting," she said. "The other Duelists have gathered and are already down at the dinning room." Shiori looked like she wanted to say something, but Anthy spoke first. "The clothes and accessories you wore yesterday are clean and in the laundry room. If you deem your current wear to not be sufficient for seeing old acquaintances, Chida-san has prepared new clothing for you both here in these closets. I'll let you two get decent." She then left closing the door behind her.

It was only afterwards that Juri realized how neither they nor Himemiya had greeted each other good morning.

"I was going to ask her who changed and cleaned us, or if she used some magical witch power to transform us, or something." Looking disconcerted, Shiori walked up to the closet and started sliding its door open. "Himemiya sounded so certain we're going to change into what Chida-san has bought for . . . oh . . ."

Juri took a look in the closet's contents herself, and had to forcibly suppress the whistle that she was about to sound. Whatever kind of person this Chida person was, whatever Anthy was plotting, she was not going to refuse Euro high-end casual wear just there for their taking.

A few minutes later, the two were elegantly dressed and already making their way down the ivory-toned spiral staircase, where each downward step brought them closer to the noises coming from the dinning room. Already she could pick out Nanami's voice, shrill and impatient just like all those years ago; Saionji's voice had turned even craggier than before, albeit the tone was more controlled and civil; there was some young man's voice whom she though she should recognize, but could not; then Miki's voice, now sounding huskily sultry . . . wait, that was Kozue . . .

" . . . appreciate everyone's patience. Yes, this meeting is taking place here at my house, but Himemiya-san is the one with the full plans. It really is better to wait for her to come down before we commence . . ."

They were walking up to the high arc doorway (one framed by delicate tendrils of thorny, lacquered rose vines) leading into the dinning room, towards the speaker with the cultured, lady-like voice. From her angle, Juri saw a woman who could best be described as "gamine personified": small face, long neck, and a body delicate enough to carry a vintage-chic slim-fit suit dress. Yet, in spite of her elegant beauty (so luminous under the natural daylight), there was something sinister about her presence. Maybe it was an overtly antiquated quality, like she was an old Hollywood screen siren on film, or a post-war pin-up girl in print – the glamour and charm remained with the image captured, but not . . . the musing got cut short as the woman had since turned towards them, smiling a gracious hostess' smile.

"Arisugawa-san, Takatsuki-san," she walked up to meet them at the doorway, extending a delicate hand towards them both. "Chida Tokiko, a friend of Himemiya Anthy and Tenjou Utena. Pleased to make your acquaintance." They exchanged handshakes, during which Juri quickly glanced past Chida Tokiko and at the occupants of the dinning room.

Indeed most of the old gang was present. On impulse, Juri studied the girls first, comparing their physicality to Shiori's and even her own. There was Kiryuu Nanami, tackily groomed like a generic blonde on daytime TV; Kaoru Kozue, enticing albeit a little too goth in the eye-liner; even Shinohara Wakaba was here, fresh-faced even as a young woman . . . with her old acquaintances in the background, and Tokiko right in front, Juri abruptly came to realize what was off about the woman: her entire person lacked vitality. While her features were indeed more beautiful than that of all three girls combined, and her manner more refined, Chida Tokiko simply lacked the vibrant _freshness_ of a living young woman. She was just like any of those lacquered roses around the house: eternally stunning when uncontested by live plants, but ashen in comparison to even a fresh-picked leaf.

As if reading her thoughts, Tokiko's smile gained a playfully self-depreciating edge. "I see you're every bit as sharp as your friends say you are, Arisugawa-san,""

Not quite friends, thought Juri, but her focus remained on the peculiar entity she currently faced. "Chida-san . . ."

"When I was young, I labored to keep flowers in eternal bloom." Eyes downcast, Tokiko gestured at the vases full of preserved flora decorating every corner of the place. "Now that I'm old, I mourn forever the fruits that could have been, but never were."

Strangely, Juri felt no fear towards Tokiko. Rather, something about what she said roused deep empathy in Juri's chest; and she knew she was not alone, with Shiori holding back a choking sob from beside them. Still, there were questions that needed to be asked (for this woman might pose danger to them still). "So are you like Himemiya? Is that why you two are friends?"

"Arisugawa-san," Tokiko's melancholy lifted, so apparently amused as she was by the questions asked. "Himemiya Anthy is more than what human words can adequately convey, while I'm merely a preserved woman of my own making." A tender expression came upon her face, one that almost managed to liven up her person. "As for why I call her a friend now, it's because she gave me something I thought was lost to me forever."

"M-Mikage . . ."

Following Shiori's shakily raised finger, Juri inhaled sharply at seeing an enlarged black and white photo hanging above the wall of the dinning room. It showed a shorthaired Tokiko seated beside a freckled boy waif in what appeared to be the inside of a greenhouse. Behind them stood a fine-featured, bespectacled man with shoulder-length hair – Mikage Souji, looking a few years older than how she remembered him back in Ohtori. The texture and resolution of the image, along with the date scribbled at its corner, indicated that the photo was over three decades old.

"I knew him as Professor Nemuro," Tokiko spoke on, wistfully. "To many, he was a robotic scientist who turned into a monster. To me, he was simply-"

A car's horn, sharp and urgent, sounded from the general direction of what should have been the garage. At the sound, Tokiko's eyes widened like that of a mother hearing her child crying in the other room; all the still-life woodenness was lifted from her features in that unexpected moment, and she looked vibrantly human then.

"Please excuse me," the woman quickly bowed even as she was hurrying off towards the source of the sound, leaving Juri and Shiori behind with their old schoolmates, all of whom tight-lipped as uncomfortable silence ensued.

Under their collective gazes, Juri too found herself at a loss of words. Since leaving Ohtori with Shiori, she had had no contact with any of the Duelists, nor had she heard much about any of them since. For there was, amidst the vigorous struggles that became daily routines, an unspoken consensus between them not to dwell on the past or its people – the future they want, and only that, was important enough to occupy their hectic thoughts. Those assembled here were obviously not strangers to her, but they might as well have been considering how none of them had anything to do with her life for the past decade. They were friends that could have been, but never were – the hardest group for anyone to break ice with, more so in her case.

"Sempai," Kaoru Miki, the closest to her in the old days, was the first to open his mouth, "Nemuro was the name of the Memorial Hall. It's the place holding the seminars that became a ruin overnight, the one that we all forgot about!" An androgynous slip of a young man now, he spoke to her as though time never had passed, and they still were as familiar with each other as was at Ohtori.

"The place where Mikage-sempai – or maybe his real name is Nemuro – stabbed those black roses in our hearts and drove us to try and hurt Utena-sempai and kill the Rose Bride," Tsuwabuki Mitsuru, now matured into a copper-haired preppy, followed Miki's lead, setting the tone for a less awkward reunion.

"Whatever his real name, he _has_ to be generations older than us," stated Saionji Kyouichi, a solidly handsome man now wearing his long locks in a tight braid. "And, he was already an adult in that vintage pic. There was no way he should've been able to pass himself as a schoolboy when we were at Ohtori, but he did."

"Chida-san herself looks to be about our age even today," Wakaba frowned lightly as she pinched her lower-lip. "Could the Chairman have turned them into undying zombies with his demonic powers, like in those horror flicks?"

"Why, I've yet to see a flick where zombies can turn into cars," chuckled Kozue, somewhat too wildly, "I mean, have you seen that pink van he became? Every bit as square as he ever was." Steadying herself, she then faced Juri and Shiori more properly. "But where are our manners? It's the distinguished Juri-sempai, whom we haven't seen for ten years! Let's show our ladies' lady some looooove!" And she was already out of her seat and leaping straight at the bigger woman amidst Shiori's startled scream.

"KOZUE!"

The roar impacted Kozue like a gunshot, freezing her less than a feet away from the stunned Juri before she was to slump to the floor, slacked. It took Juri a moment before she realized that Miki was the one to have generated that harsh sound.

"Miki-kun . . ."

"I'm sorry, Juri-sempai," muttered the agitated young man as he rushed forward to try dragging his twin up and off the floor. "I thought I had cleared her of all recreational substances before we came here last night. She must've managed to slip something past me to get high with after all." He then whispered to his sister, now clawing at the floor as if under demonic possession. "Kozue, get up on your own feet please! You're embarrassing yourself-" A vicious claw swipe to his face cut his sentence short.

"Fuck you!" Kozue snarled up at her brother like a wild animal cornered. "You never fucking cared about what kinda shit I got into on my own! It's only when your elite friends are watching that I become an embarrassment to you! You fucking hypocrite closet case fag! You think I don't know what you've been up to with that chicken-hawk family lawyer? Telling the court I'm unfit to manage my share of the inheritance . . . you money gulping cocksuck! You would've kicked me out already, but daddy had my name and only my name on the property, so there!"

Face twisted from savage rage as Juri had never seen on him, Miki pulled back his hand as if to strike the now hysterical Kozue. To her continued shock, it was Saionji who stepped up and sleekly grabbed onto Miki's slim wrist.

"Miki, if beating your sister up will get her to kick the habit, I'd beat her for you," said the much bigger man, as Miki started to tremble at what he almost did in front of everyone. "But it won't. I know addicts: beatings will only drive her even further down the addicted path. And I know you; you'd only end up hurting yourself even worse than you'd ever hurt her." Letting go of Miki, Saionji picked up his now subdued twin like she weighted nothing to him, and sat her back down on her chair. Kozue remained glassy-eyed throughout her being moved about.

Juri, for her part, moved hesitantly up to the young man she once knew. "Miki . . . "

Teary face scrunched up, Miki cried with the despair of a boy at the end of his world. "She won't quit, sempai, not after having been hooked on the stuff for ten years. Father actually knew about this back when he was alive, but he bribed the school to turn a blind eye to Kozue's habit. Since then, she's been spending money like water just to keep shooting up. And now that our parents had both passed away, I'm the only one who takes care of her, and I don't even how to go on-" Juri had since drew her old friend into her embrace, hushing him and patting his heaving back in a manner so familiar, she startled herself.

"Shhh, Miki, it's alright now . . . let's get back to the table. We're about to have a breakfast meeting, right? Let's all eat first, then worry about stuff later." She ushered Miki towards the long dinning table, with Shiori following from right beside her.

"Words of wisdom from the plus-size model," muttered Nanami, idly toying with her chopsticks. While not herself offended, Juri noticed the pointed glare Shiori was directing at the blonde, and kicked her lover's heel lightly as they got themselves seated. Shiori composed herself, and turned pensive.

"Ten years ago . . . that was around the time when we got kicked out of Ohtori, Juri."

Juri nodded grimly, still gently patting a shaky Miki on his back. "The period immediately following Revolution, when we had to quickly put the whole thing behind us, because our lives abruptly got swarmed by problems." Her voice went heavy with regret. "We did not go after Utena, because she took a backseat to our own survival." She glanced all around at the rest of the group. "Was it like this for everyone else? I'm asking because if we all got saddled with problems that kept us from finding Utena at the same time, then we can be certain that Ohtori Akio was the one who disrupted our lives, again, to prevent us from finding the Victor."

Wakaba was the first to answer her. "I wasn't having any special problems at the time; just that my Dad got transferred overseas, and our whole family moved with him out of the country. I did wrote back to Tatsuya asking him if he heard anything about Utena's whereabouts, but after a few month even we stopped writing each other and drifted apart. I would have completely put my Ohtori days behind me by now, if not for Anthy approaching me asking me to come help Utena. She's offering to give me whatever I name as prize, but I'd come regardless since this is Utena-_sama_!" She ended her words with a cutesy beam – one that Juri felt was a little too exuberant even for her.

"But for Akio-san to have caused something like that, he needed to have at least partial control of an international company's overseas branch." Tsuwabuki scratched his chin, obviously trying to look older and wiser but failing (albeit cutely). "Is it even possible for a high school Acting Chairman to have this kind of far-reaching influence?"

"Is it still too early for your brain in the morning?" Nanami snapped at her former errand boy, who cowered like the child he once was. "The thing that calls himself the Ends of the World is not even human! His influence might reach every corner of the globe for all we know!"

Tsuwabuki rubbed the back of his head self-consciously. "Umm . . . anyway, I forgot about Utena-sempai pretty soon after she was gone. I mean, nobody even told me much about the Revolution, and I guessed I just stop thinking about it on my own. I was just some brat then." He shrugged helplessly. "Oh, and I came here with Miki-sempai and Kozue-sempai, cause Himemiya-sempai said she'd help . . . us get through our problems if we help her." Beside him, the Kaoru twins remained unmoving as woodcrafts as they stared down into their empty plates in silence. Watching them from across the table, Saionji let out a heavy, punctuated sighed.

"I suppose it's our turn to provide convenient exposition." He glanced sideways at Nanami – the one seated beside him. "What'd you say? Can I tell them?" Nanami, who had been defensively antagonistic for all this time, bit down on her lower lip and nodded grudgingly. Saionji turned back towards the rest of them. "I don't know if you guys remember, but Touga always did have the tendency to breakdown emotionally when things get rough." He received blank looks from everyone (except Nanami). "Oh C'mon, since we all remember Mikage now, some of you should remember how Touga was skipping school and hiding in his room for like the entire time we got hounded by the Black Rose Duelists – all just because he got defeated dueling Tenjou."

Juri frowned. Now that Saionji mentioned it, she did recall something like that: Touga going catatonic after using all the dirty tricks up his sleeve and still getting defeated by Utena, Nanami's subsequent role as Proxy-President of the Student Council in support of her Onii-sama, and the entire deal forgotten along with all memories related to the Black Rose Duelists – until now. In hindsight, it was cold of her and Miki to just let the elder Kiryuu rot in his room without caring; while not friends, they were acquaintances after all, and cunning as he was, Touga was really only a seventeen year old boy who could be (and was in fact) badly hurt. Apathetic; that was how all the Student Council members really were, be they coolly rational as herself, or sweet mannered as Miki. Was that why none of them could defeat a swordplay novice like Utena during the duels? Because what mattered upon the arena in the sky was neither skill nor power, but the character and the heart? Utena, the Victor to the very end, was the only one among them with the capacity to care about other people . . .

Was apathy the reason why none of them had gone after Utena immediately after the Revolution? There were days, weeks even, between Utena's disappearance and her own expulsion from Ohtori; had she gone after the Victor using the intelligence network she still had before her own downfall, could she have changed history for the better? Could she have then saved Utena, saved Shiori and herself, saved everyone?

"Anyway," Saionji went on, "the Kiryuus and myself did indeed find our lives in turmoil soon after Revolution – about a week or so after you girls got kicked out. I won't go into details of what had happened, but believe me it was bad. Touga . . . he got damaged the worst, and hasn't really been the same since." Something about the way Saionji use the word "damaged" reminded Juri of how Anthy had described Utena's current situation. But before she could prompt Saionji to elaborate further on Touga's plight, Tsuwabuki had eagerly cut in.

"Touga-sempai was skipping school a lot that year. Nanami-sama was unhappy all the time, but she wouldn't tell me what was wrong no matter how I asked her." He gulped at seeing Nanami's baleful glare. "T-that's about the time when we drifted apart, and Miki-sempai had been my closest older friend since."

"All three of us left Ohtori right after the school year ended," Saionji's lids were closed as if weary. "Like with Arisugawa and Takatsuki, everyone from Ohtori took a backseat to our problems as we struggled to stay afloat."

"Stay afloat?" blinked Wakaba, confused. "But you were all special kids coming from old money-"

"We were _kids_," Nanami spat out the last word with much agitation. "It took a long, uphill battle before we got the money that should've been ours in the first place. And by that time, Onii-sama was already-"

"Kyu!"

Turning at the sound, everyone did a double take at seeing what appeared to be two apron-wearing blue penguins carrying a long sashimi boat through the high arc doorway. Setting it clumsily down the long dinning table (with Shiori and Tsuwabuki quickly helping to avoid a spill-over), the penguins then bowed servant-like at them, before turning to leave upon webbed feet. Juri noticed the numbers "2" and "3" being written on the two creatures' respective backs as they exited the doorway.

Kozue broke out into giggles. "Raw fish served by penguins for breakfast, now that's living in style."

Tsuwabuki tentatively picked up a slice of tuna toro via the "public" chopsticks, tried it on his own plate, and "ooh-ed". "Wow, this is really fresh and sweet!"

"Don't touch the fugu," warned Nanami, poking suspiciously at the colorful, lushly arranged sashimi pieces. "The penguins might've been the ones to cut the fishes for all we know."

"Well, if those penguins are good enough chefs to make these intricate floral formations with the puffer fish, I gather they're good enough to avoid cutting the liver." Mouth full, Saionji picked up a label off the boat-platter, and swallowed before he read off it. "Licensed Usuki non-toxic fugu: safe to consume." At his words, multiple pairs of chopsticks shot forward to pick off the pieces like ravenous bird beaks.

"The animal accomplices just prove it," flitted Shiori, nervously picking up a slice of farmed salmon herself. "Chida-san really is like Himemiya-san, whatever that is."

Bride. Witch. Flower blossoming at the Ends of the World. Back in the day, there had been scattered pieces of rumors floating around Ohtori regarding Himemiya Anthy, and Juri herself had utilized her eyes and eyes trying to dig deeper into the girl's background; but none of the information she got could really define what the Rose Bride really was, at least not by rational understanding.

"And that . . . car, is that really Mikage?"

Shiori seemed to be worrying endlessly over the human/car issue, and Juri (who got handed salmon roe seaweed salad by her weight-conscious lover) could not say she blamed her, not after the overwhelming car ride into the Light of the World, not after seeing the soul sword turning into a car key . . .

"Those women said it is," the word "women" came out of Nanami's still chewing mouth laced with distaste. "Uttered some gibberish about how he could only function as a mechanical being after getting 'graduated' by Akio."

"Anthy basically said it was some guilt/shame combo that made Mikage unable to function in the real world as a human being." Saionji clucked his teeth. "Akio apparently screwed the poor guy over real bad."

"Chida-san said Mikage can still appear as an autistic human, and had asked us not to get scared should we see him around this house," supplied Miki while helping his shaky-fingered, high-strung twin fill her dish. "I haven't seen it . . . him yet, though, so I don't really know the extend of the damage."

There was the word again. Damage. This time, Juri decided to speak up before the direction of the conversation was to stray off again.

"Has anyone seen Utena?" she asked. "From what Himemiya told us, she too is suffering from some kind of damage."

"Anthy said Utena will be joining us this morning," said Wakaba between mouthfuls of onion-wrapped urchins. "We're still waiting for them."

"Truth be told I was also looking forward to seeing what became of Tenjou," said Saionji between sips of his rose green tea. "She really was the best among us, in spite of her sheer stupidity. No wonder she can draw people towards her like fire draws moths." Juri could taste very diluted levels of bitterness in his tone directed at Utena, even in this here and now.

"Pardon me, but where is Kiryuu-sempai?" asked Shiori. "It sounds to me like he should be here."

"They told us Onii-sama is here, that's how they got us to come," snarled Nanami while struggling to pry the meat off an oyster she picked.

"Oh?"

"Touga went missing a while ago," explained Saionji. "Himemiya approached us saying she had found him, and that he had chosen to stay with Tenjou and help."

"But help with what?" Nanami tore the oyster's flesh apart with much violence. "We've been here since the middle of the night and I still haven't been allowed to see my Onii-sama, let alone Utena. Those women are acting all secretive; why can't they just give us some straight answers? I mean they obviously need our help-"

"We do need and appreciate your help, Nanami-san; pardon us if we made you feel otherwise."

All turned towards Anthy's voice. The apron wearing (former?) Rose Bride was standing beyond the high arch doorway with a food service cart carrying miso soup, desserts, and more green tea. While her left hand was on the cart's handle, her right hand was pulled to the side – it was clasped onto a slightly bigger, much paler hand belonging to someone off view from the dinning room's occupants. As if only now noticing how her companion was hiding off to the side, Anthy tugged at the hand.

"Come on out," she said to that person; gently, pleadingly. "There is no need to feel awkward around them. These are all old friends who know and understand you; they are here to help, Utena."

Everyone waited with bated breath as Utena was slowly but surely dragged out by the latter's deceptively delicate-looking hand and into plain sight.

What followed was a moment of utter, eternal-seeming silence, before it was shattered by Nanami's and Wakaba's high-pitched screaming. Juri thought she heard Kozue's strained moaning, but was not entirely sure as her focus stayed mainly upon Miki and his fleeing the room with a hand to his mouth (with Tsuwabuki quickly following him). Shiori and Saionji both managed to remain silent, but the stunned looks on their faces might prove even more hurtful than any sound they could have made; Juri dreaded to know what kind of expression she herself was currently betrayed by.

Tenjou Utena, the Victor of the Duels, the one who liberated their troubled youth, whom they had not seen since, now stood before them looking big-shouldered, thick-necked, flat-chested, broad-waisted, and hipless in unisex casual wear; the long pink hair was now cropped into a pageboy cut, framing a handsome face that sported a small _goatee_.

The girl who wanted to be a prince had now become a man.

**End Part Two**


	3. Prince, Interrupted Prelude

**Seinen Kakumei Utena**

Utena and its characters belong to its various owners.

**WARNING:** Parts of this work contain **depictions of** **transphobia**, **controversial** shoujo fantasy** trans situation **that** in no way reflects real life trans people**, and **misogynic** magic attack leading to** forced masculinization**

**Part Three: Prince, Interrupted - Prelude**

(Go to my profile, then my blogspot homepage, to get the better-formatted version of this story.)

The kitchen's fridge was cold, the kitchen's fridge was stocked; the kitchen's fridge was Antarctica-condensed and at its very best – so much so, that the two apron-wearing blue penguins currently lazing within its confines wanted to never leave it, wanting instead to snack on forever within this ultra-cool sanctuary.

"Chu!"

A crack appeared as the fridge door got pulled opened by the shivering Chu-Chu, currently decked in a miniature Eskimo's fur coat. In his tiny paw was a pentagon-star-shaped paper note, which the monkey mouse then passed into Number Two's blue flipper before scurrying away out of sight.

"Kyu!" Reading the note, Number 2 then pulled Number 3 out of the fridge with it. Together, they hopped onto the countertop, grabbed the broad box of donuts, and exited the kitchen. As the creatures made their way down the hallway, they passed by the dinning room and its loudly agitated occupants, passed the dark-skinned woman and the pink-haired man pushing a food service cart towards said dinning room, up the spiral staircase, past the white-painted, red-rose-lined washroom door displaying a scarlet "OCCUPIED" sign, and towards a bedroom with a shiny, stylized pentagon star bearing the letter "H" hanging upon its wooden door.

The screams from the dinning room came right as Number 3 opened the star-adorned door for Number 2 to carry the donut box inside. Unfazed, the creatures stepped right into the dark, glittery interior, and up towards a girlishly ornamented bed veiled under red canopy curtains; two young-boyish silhouettes could be seen curled up face-to-face on the bed, each hugging a penguin to his chest (one black, one blue, beaks meeting in a kiss) . . . words, spoken in precocious, pre-pubescent tone, drifted upon the tranquil space (strangely unaffected by the noises outside) as tendrils of smoke:

"If there exists a god who listens, I want to ask him this:

"Can people do nothing but to embrace their own fates?

"And, suppose someone is to go against fate,

"Ignoring their predetermined gender and role to become someone they weren't born to be,

"Will others still accept them as being human?

"I can't stop thinking about the word fate . . ."

Even as the words flowed, the bedroom door closed seemingly on its own, blocking off the view and sound from within its dreamy confines. Outside, the screams from the dinning room continued to climb both in the way of pitch and hysteria.

* * *

It started out with them looking at him, and him looking back; thus how they had stayed for one mercifully wordless moment. Then came the screaming, the rushing off to throw up in revulsion, the muted looks of horror, and the tenuous orderly calm of their ten year reunion got shattered like glass.

"Utena!" Nanami, prone to hysterics even as a grown woman, pointed a shaky finger at him like he was covered in live roaches. "You . . . you've . . . what the _fuck_?"

"Don't you swear at my Utena-sama!" Wakaba, his best friend from another lifetime, snapped at the blonde with startling violence, before turning towards him with a force smile that looked uglier than even her worst crying face "Oh Utena-sama, just . . . just . . . what the _FUCK_?"

Prior to seeing them again, Tenjou Utena had already dreaded his old friends' possible reactions to his current maleness more than anything. And now that he had already seen and heard for himself their revulsion against him, he felt a metallic coolness slowly but surely stabbing through his person, going in the back and coming out upfront, keeping him upright like an insect pinned upon invisible cardboard, helplessly awaiting eternal damnation. With his entire body now stiffened from the neck down, he could turn only his accusing glare towards the one responsible – Himemiya Anthy; whose hand had tightened around his, whose wisps of stray hair stood at the back of her dark neck as if from static, whose lush tresses would have been rippling upon the still-air by now if not for the pins holding them down; ever-mysterious Anthy, whose head was lowered like a woman either about to be struck – or about to strike out. An inaudible sigh escaped his lips – what kind of reaction did she expect from these people, anyway? Eternal Anthy, having already coexisted so very long alongside this world, should have known better than to think the old gang would readily accept his current self just because they had been school chums for that one (apparently very forgettable) year. Did she not know that these people were all cogs of the world? Be they shrewd or playful or idealistic or obsessed, they all were puppets with strings pulled by _their_ world – a world that had always been adversarial towards him, even since before the Revolution, back when he was just some little girl in a boy's uniform whom all the teachers hated, whom all the boys (with few exceptions) thought of as non-sexual, whom all the girls . . .

"Your . . . face! Y-You've got _facial hair_!

How-"

"Oh Utena-sama,

what did that

evil man

do to you?"

. . . words, human words, spoken in voices girly and shrill, spoken in noises metallic and sharp; already Utena could see _them_ – those gleaming, metallic lengths rearing their ugly heads at him in multitudes of hundreds and thousands, appearing so very real to him that Nanami and Wakaba might just as well be faded shadows fluttering across some distant walls in some other place and time as these hateful, hate-filled swords came thrusting closer and closer and . . .

"Utena!

What

did

you

do

to

yourself?"

"U

te

na

-sa

ma

!"

**"QUIET!"**

Juri's voice – stronger and even more authoritative-sounding than in her teens – blasted out like gunshot, silencing the hysterical girls and shattering his sword-filled vision like hammer against mirror. Utena saw that she was even more beautiful in person than on Anthy's glossy magazines, where some of the shots did made her look bulky. While still powerfully-assured, the frosty aloofness marking her teens had apparently been warmed by the years, as the fencer-turned-model came up towards him in broad, easy strides, stopping such that her smiling face faced his. "It's good to see you again, Utena."

"Juri-sempai," he made himself smile back in reply to her earnest voice and expression. Had he still been that foolish fairytale-obsessed girl he once was, Utena would never have questioned Juri's apparent easy acceptance of his person. Now that he was older and wiser, he knew to carefully analyze the "whys" behind how people act towards him; knew, and understood how he should (must) react in return. "I see you have Shiori-sempai with you."

From behind Juri, Shiori quickly stood up to bow at him from behind the dinning table she shared with the rest of the stunned group. "Utena-san, good to see you again. It's been so long . . . " she gestures (somewhat awkwardly) at the empty seats left, "won't you join us for breakfast?"

"Y-Yes, Utena-sama!" Wakaba spoke as well, forcing herself to sound normal and failing. "We got so much to catch up on, to plan . . . "

"Ah, please pardon me," Miki shakily returned from where he rushed off to (with Tsuwabuki tiptoeing thief-like back towards his own seat in his background), and stepped up towards Utena as well. "Fish went down the wrong way, and I had to get cleaned up." The young man offered his pale hand in a blatantly brave gesture. "So great to see you again, Utena-sempai!" Utena saw, from behind him, Kozue rolling her slightly bloodshot eyes.

Eyes on the young man he used to think of as a cute little brother, Utena gave him a firm, lasting handshake, and observed the goosebumps now rising on his thin neck with a sort of detached coldness.

"Utena," Anthy had by now moved to beside the dinning table, setting the food and drinks down for their rigid guests with the languid, emotionally-void grace of a restrained lady. "The breakfast meeting is about to start."

Letting go of Miki (who sagged in relief), Utena walked up towards the group, all the while internally steeling himself to take on the cutting questions that were sure to come.

Surprisingly, there were no questions asked – no words at all – as everyone simply continued their breakfast in silence; the dubious glances, on the other hand, could be seen getting passed around at a much higher frequency than the teapot and the dessert tray combined. Brusquely stuffing face with Unakyu (thus not-so subtly deterring conversation directed his way), Utena saw Anthy sipping her tea while glancing across each and every uncomfortable face around the table at a measured, purposeful pace, before lowering her cup and cutting straight to the point.

"I would like to begin by thanking everyone for coming together and pledging to help the Victor," smiling thinly, she spoke in a voice as demure as her words were shrewd. "It's most rare these days for people to remember favors owed, and be willing to enact repayment. One gets pleasantly surprised when it still happens."

Utena saw the ex-Duelists all further stiffening at the ex-Bride's words; none of them could deny that the Victor had changed their lives for the better (albeit but for a while), yet all of them had gathered here only after being approached with the promise of miracles – solutions to their worldly problems. They knew they were not helping him for free even after everything he did for them, and there lied the problem that ate at their own comfort zone.

Nanami, offensive spitfire that she was, was the first to strike back. "And what does Utena need help with?" Does _he_ now want to turn back into a girl or something? How did the tomboy get changed into a man in the first place, I wonder? Was _that_ the Power of Revolution? Thank god I lost the duels! Or did Utena just get man-genes from the spirit of Dios?" She concluded her tirade by letting out the trademark spiteful laughter of her adolescent days . . . one that gradually died down under Anthy's steady gaze. "W-What? You got a problem with what I said? Talking down on us in that backhanded alien way of yours . . . I mean, sure, Utena did breeze through our lives in that foolishly open way of hers that got us to be more open ourselves, and we all became nicer to each other for a while, closer for a while . . . but her Revolution _failed_! The so-called Victor just disappeared off the face of our world, and most of our lives just took bungee jumps like right afterwards! So what the _FUCK_-" she punctuated the swear-word with a fist to the table that sent the plates rattling, "-kinda _favor_ did we owe you, either of you?" The blonde glared viciously back at the dark-featured woman, whose gaze remained steady; whose smile now gained a pitying edge.

"The revolution succeeded; it crumbled afterwards only because those whose lives got revolutionized did not follow up on the revolutionary success."

Her listeners all jolted at Anthy's words as if struck; Nanami, in particular, looked like she had just swallowed a frog. "F-Follow up?"

"My brother was both exhausted and enchantment-bound in the days immediately following the Revolution. Had even one of you summoned the resolve to seek out Utena then, he would've no way of stopping you, and she will be found. I could've then followed your trail towards Utena, used what power I had to restore her body and soul, and together we would returned immediately to Ohtori to claim the awakened Power of Dios and stop my brother's mad games once and for all." Anthy's voice darkened as thickening clouds. "Instead, you and the other Duelists simply went blissfully on with your days while giving the Ends of the World ample time to recover, to grow strong. Do you now blame his present control over your world on us?"

" . . . present control over _our world_?" squeaked Tsuwabuki like a trapped mouse. Utena saw how most of the others had gone wide-eyed at this piece of info as well; not Juri, who just seemed pained and resigned. Anthy took a dainty sip of tea prior to speaking on.

"I believe Juri-sempai was the first among you to have figured it out: that the world outside of Ohtori Academy – what used to be the real world – now too have come under the End of the World's control. Even this place," she gestured with her pretty dark hand all around the elegant interior of the Victorian style mansion, "an 'anti-Ohtori' designed by Chida-san – and later fine-tuned by myself – as a sanctuary against external influences; even its barriers are not completely impenetrable, not against the kind of power my brother has accumulated in the past decade."

Juri spoke up at this point. "Some colleagues of Shiori and mine were revealed to be but stage props that could be made disappear at Himemiya's will. This reminded me of how, back in our day, even adults from the outside world were also similarly bewitched by the Ends of the World like us boarding students." She glanced ever so briefly past the Kaoru twins, before looking Anthy right in the eye. "I have no idea how this sort of thing can be accomplished outside of Ohtori, though . . ." Utena, who had since learned about Anthy's manipulation of Mr. Kaoru (among many others) after their reunion, easily caught the subtext.

"People are deception-prone by nature," Anthy faced Juri naturally and without apparent guilt. "You show them crude illusions, and their eager minds will naturally perfect the images for their hungry eyes. Remember the 'miracles' you saw in Ohtori? The arena in the sky, the inverted castle, the materializing swords . . . these were all artificial projections running upon power – both his and mine; also used were the humans my brother had sacrificed for use as fuel, but those used to came in insufficient quantities . . . until now." Utena calmly noted how the whole group was now looking at Anthy like she had just admitted to being a mass-murder, and how the dark woman still was speaking in casual tones. "In that period after I just walked out on him, my brother must have been devastated to find himself lacking power enough to control even a little private school. Having already experimented with spell-bounding outsiders before, he must have somehow discovered his current method of mass-ensnaring humans from the world outside – to make them willingly surrender themselves to him for the things he could offer, and become the fuel to empower his fairytale kingdom unto eternity."

"Turning humans into fuel . . ." a wide-eyed Wakaba wondered out loud, tremblingly. "Something like this-"

"This should not be news to you, Wakaba," Anthy's voice now was darkly husky, " you, Shiori-sempai, Kozue, and Tsuwabuki-kun; you all rode the elevator down the morgue underneath Nemuro Memorial Hall, where the Hundred Boys of the Black Rose-" She got cut off by Shiori's scream of sheer terror – coming so high in pitch, Utena thought for a moment that the glass windows might shatter. Juri held onto her girl at once, protecting her like a coat of green around a young hatchling.

"T-this . . this VOICE!" Shiori now was shaking uncontrollably as she pointed an accusing finger at Anthy. "You! You were that dark-skinned boy together with Mikage, the one who stabbed the black rose into my heart and make me . . . make me . . ."

". . . express your true self?" asked Anthy, and Shiori crumbled like a crushed origami piece within Juri's strong embrace. "Like I told you before, making people do things they don't want to goes quite against my nature – though I cannot say the same for my brother." Anthy now locked gazes with Juri, who eyed her like one would at a black widow right upon their skin. "Do you know? Nemuro Memorial Hall was the prototype Human Broiler – my brother's first attempt at mass-producing human fuel; its initial success paved the way for other such broilers to be built beyond the grounds of Ohtori throughout the past decade. There are at least three such external broilers that I know of here in Japan alone: the Aranjia Agency that you both worked for, with its avocation of unrealistic beauty standards and draining work schedules, is really a front for the Beauty Broiler designed to process vain women and men into pure, mindless fuel. Had I not interfered when I did, I wonder how much longer it will be before strong, perfect Juri-sempai finally gets grinded down into human petroleum to power my brother's fancy cars?" She then tittered daintily to her own words amidst their growing horror, its sound as cruel as it was provoking.

"Witch!" Breaking under the strain, Tsuwabuki shot up from his seat. "You're that monster's sister, you-" He was quickly dragged back down by Miki, who then quickly covered his mouth – in the same fearful way that a parent will cover a child's mouth when they were held hostages by some gun-wielding criminal.

"You know," slim elbows perched on the table, Anthy rested her small chin upon the backs of her delicately crossed fingers, "since finding Utena and settling down, I've had ample time to again check on the notable Duelists of her generation. Imagine my un-surprise at seeing how all of you are still living under my brother's control. There's Wakaba," the pale-faced girl opened her mouth, but Anthy beat her to speaking, "working as an office assistant at the recreation and lifestyle section of a magazine that's really a subsidiary of a much larger corporation ran by the Ohtori family. Saionji-sempai works for the same magazine now and then, as a freelance photographer for the entertainment section; both him and the currently jobless Kiryuus-" she paused briefly as if only to observe the redness now inflaming Nanami's face, "-have financial advisers watching over their accounts – guess which high school alumni they all belong to? Kozue, the music agent your father set you up with to get you on TV – the one who introduced you to hard drug before overdosing and 'died' – now is a music teacher working at Ohtori." Kozue looked like this was all old news to her, but her twin had paled at the information. "Miki, your family lawyer provides legal consultation to Ohtori's Board of Trustees; he visits the Planetarium at least once a month, though he can only see my brother in his pre-adolescent Dios guise. Tsuwabuki-kun, you are currently enrolled in the University Division of Ohtori Academy, although you do reside off campus." Leaning back on her chair, she now included the entire overwhelmed lot of them within her piercing, scorching gaze. "Last time, your unified apathy had wasted the Victor's sacrifice while greatly empowering the Ends of All Your Worlds. This time, will you all finally take action to win back your own lives – even at the cost of helping me, whom you all distrust – so I may help Utena win back hers?" Back straightening, she faced them more solemnly. "This time, will you help us help you?"

A heavy stillness hung over the air, as everyone appeared resolutely tight-lipped, but Utena knew this silence would not last. Just watching them, he could see how their closed hearts had since gone aflame from Anthy's swaying words – they knew they had no choice but to side with the Victor and the Witch if they were to escape from Akio's choking grip on their lives. No longer able to trust Anthy after what she had revealed herself to be, they will have to turn to him, to have him made valid their decision for them.

"Utena," Juri, having the strongest personality from among the group, now spoke on its behalf. "I think I can speak for everyone here that we all respect you for the things you did, and that we're all willing to help you now, if you'll let us. But we will need to know what kind of help you need, and what do we have to do to give you that help." She cast the full might of her sincere yet piercing gaze upon him. "You've been quiet throughout this entire meeting Himemiya has held for you, won't you speak up now, Utena?" A still traumatized Shiori – still huddled against the bigger woman's embrace – nodded along with her words.

Having since put down his chopsticks, Utena wiped at his lips with a paper napkin (in a manner that he hope could rival Juri in assuredness). "First off, there's no reason for any of you to distrust . . . well, at least try not to fear Anthy, since she's now with me." He still ended up having to gulp down excess saliva prior to continuing, thus breaking the cool. "Basically, she wants me to have my old body back, but I'm really fine with what I have now-"

"Hey, it's fake!"

Before he could react, a bright-eyed Kozue had already reached over to pick off the paste-on goatee that he had accidentally wiped sideways. Wakaba perked up as if having found gold.

"Then Utena-sama is still a . . ." she studied his lean but muscular built, and the excitement drained off her face, "er . . . not."

"Tenjou," Saionji, silent until now, at last spoke up, "I see that you've become a lot more muscular than before, but your bone structure still is small like that of a woman. And your face . . . it looks like you've been cutting fat then applying shadows to make it look so angular. You're also wearing sport shoes indoor – are those heel lifts you got inside?" Feeling the heat, Utena looked away from his intense gaze; the man pressed on. "This is not some magical transformation that occurred in Ohtori, but something done here in the outside world, isn't it?" Lead on by Saionji's sharp observation, everyone was looking at him now, and Utena could again spot those hateful metallic glints, currently reflected within their wide, baffled eyes.

"Utena-sempai . . . " Miki, the smartest one among them, finally gathered his wits and started asking the on-point question. "Have you been going through HRT?"

Lips drawn tight, Utena noticed now Nanami, Wakaba, and Shiori all inhaling sharply at hearing the term; only naïve little Tsuwabuki appeared at a loss. "What's HRT?"

"Why, that's hormonal replacement therapy, Tsuwabuki-chan," drawled Kozue, still studying the fake goatie with much interest, "trannies have it to better camouflage themselves as the opposite sex-" Miki's slap did manage to land this time, sending his high-strung twin backwards and off her chair. The unexpectedness of the young man's action set of that reflexive anger in Utena that he quickly had to quench; not quickly enough, it turned out, he could now see the stacks of swords literally framing all corners of her vision, sharp tips pointing towards the oblivious blue-haired man, now towering over his sister in righteous rage.

"If you're going to be shooting off at the mouth then stay out of our meeting!"

"Your meeting?" Glaring up at Miki from where she fell, Kozue struggled to get back on her feet. "You fucking want me out of your _life_!" Saionji reached out a hand offering to help her up, and she slapped it away without looking. "Why do you even bother dragging me here acting like you're doing this to help me? What? Just so you can play the dutiful onii-sama to the old gang, huh?" From beside Saionji, Nanami could be seen paling at _that_ word, but she did not notice. "Well, fuck you to hell, you complete TOOL!" Finally up on her own feet, she stormed off and out of the dinning room.

Rage having since dissipated, Miki's limbs grew rigid with awkwardness as he turned back towards Utena. "Oh, Utena-sempai, I'm so sorry, I . . . Kozue, she was-" He was then gently pulled back down onto his seat by Juri.

"Utena," she gestured at him to continue. "If you could."

"Just . . . start from the very beginning, tomboy." A now resigned-seeming Nanami too urged him to speak.. "What were those duels the Ends of the World made us fight back in Ohtori? Just what exactly was the Revolution? And if you won the final duel, how did you came to be this . . . whatever you've become right now?"

Utena saw, from behind the entire gang, Anthy looking encouragingly at him. Gritting his teeth, he slapped a hand over his forehead hoping to clear the images of rattling metal from his vision, straightened his back, and started saying his piece. "At the beginning . . . it is. There was once a prince living among many princesses all enamored of him, and he had a sister who loved him more than all these princesses combined . . ."

* * *

_'To hell with the punk; I'm so gonna leave, I . . .' _

Angrily stomping up the stairs and onto the second floor of the mansion, Kaoru Kozue was about to go straight to her room and start packing, when she noticed the sound of running water. Turning her head, she saw a closed, red-rose-lined washroom door displaying a scarlet sign that reads "READY TO SERVE". Drawn by these words (so potentially vulgar for a washroom in such an elegant-seeming mansion), as well as needing to fix her makeup (she definitely needs to conceal the handprint now marring her face), she started walking up towards the washroom . . .

"_Chu!_"

Before she could even react, Chu-Chu had literally flown past her while carrying a big "OUT OF SERVICE" sign, which he then slapped onto the bathroom door. Somersaulting back down onto the floor, he nodded approvingly at his work, prior to scurrying rapidly down the hall and out of sight.

" . . . what the . . .?"

That was when she heard the piano music faintly audible in the air.

It was coming from the bedroom right next to the bathroom, its star-adorned door forced open a crack by a small, crumbled up paper note stuck at its corner. From her angle, she saw only a narrow line of glittery darkness revealed. Intrigued, Kozue walked up to the door, and pushed.

What she then discovered made even someone like her – who had gone through all the wonders and horrors of Ohtori and beyond – cry out in surprise.

What lied beyond the door was not a bedroom – not any room at all – but what appeared to be a vast galactic space of seemingly infinite size. The sight immediately conjured in her memories of the Ohtori Planetarium, where she and that beautiful dark monster had . . .but this seemed so much more _vibrant_ than the projector's already stunning illusions; so much so, she could not help but step right through the door and into this surreal space.

She did not suffocate like she would have in actual outer space, of course, but nor did she felt any need to breath once inside; nor did she waver walking without ground. A small creaking sound from behind notified her of the fact that the door was closing on its own; turning around, she saw no trace of any door at all, only that same, infinite-seeming starry space – one that's enriched by the pristine sound of the piano piece she heard from the outside. So, this was what Himemiya meant by an "anti-Ohtori" . . .

"Nice to have you joining us, Kozue-chan."

Turning at the voice, Kozue saw Chida Tokiko playing at the piano – one that was colored in pink (accompanied by a matching pink bench), with a black-rose motif printed at the side. Beside the piano was a red-veiled bed so little-girl-ish, so mind-bendingly juvenile, she would have torched it had she a lighter in her hand. Walking up closer, her disgust at this abnormality faded slightly as she saw the two blue penguins – the same ones she had seen before bringing sashimi into the dinning room – huddled together in an insufferably cute pile, fat bellies heaving as they snored in their sleep.

She and Miki used to sleep huddled together like this too, once upon a time.

On the bed beside the blissful birds was an opened donut box, its contents ruffled as if from the eager hands of young children. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Kozue did something that surprised even herself: she picked up a piece of the messy junk food and started eating.

"There's rose tea on the coffee table beside the bed if you would like some," supplied Tokiko in her sweet, warm voice. Somewhat obediently, Kozue poured herself some tea, and sipped; she had since found herself slowly but losing hold on the wild rage she had prior to entering this place, which was beginning to feel to her like a huge pool of serenity easily cooling her fire.

"It's a nice piece you're playing, Chida-san," said Kozue, although she judged the woman's skill to be inferior to that of her brilliant twin. "Is that piano . . .?"

"Appearances are merely outward expressions of the moment," smiled Tokiko, slim fingers tapping across glossy keys. "A man by any other form still is the same man."

"Must be handy having a man who can be everything around." Eyes downcast, Kozue's lips quirked in a bitter smirk. "Miki can only ever be Miki, and he still sucks at everything that cannot be put into technical term-" Suddenly realized that she had revealed way too much to this near-stranger – another "ageless" witch who happened to be the Rose Bride's friend, even – the young woman quickly tried guiding the conversation towards another direction. "So what's this? Like, a lullaby for your penguins?"

"Oh, these penguins are not mine, Kozue-chan; this is a song I'm playing for their owners, to help them remember." Tokiko then gestured into the distance., where two young boys were seen wandering across an impossible-seeming dark horizon fading off at its edges, with two other penguins following closely behind them. Shadow-cloaked as the group was, Kozue still could see that one of the boys – the one with the longer, wavier hair reflecting blue-streaks – was holding a donut with both hands as he nibbled upon it squirrel-like. They were walking with their heads high, and their steps were light to the point of being almost dance-like . . . but somehow, watching them made her feel lonely.

"Remember what?" asked Kozue, concerned without understanding why: she was never big on kids . . . although these two _were_ around the age she and her twin were back in their Sunlit Garden days, but for a self-centred cynic like her to feel this sort of affinity towards some totally irrelevant strangers . . .

"Their way back home," replied Tokiko, her voice and expression strangely faraway. "All the princes I've known tend to forget that."

A light, whining yawn came from the penguin marked by the number "3" as it turned in its sleep – a movement that revealed to Kozue the small piece of photo it was previously sleeping upon. Picking it up, she saw that it was a picture taken of three children – two boys franking one little girl – standing in front of a huge aquarium tank filled with swimming penguins. The blue light from the tank had cast everything into monochrome tableau, but Kozue still could make out the two boys to be the same ones as those currently walking under the stars. Flipping the photo around, she saw the childish handwriting scribbled on its back:

I'll never forget; never ever.

I love you, nii-chans.

_. . . onii-chan . . . onii-chan . . .!_

Unexplainably, as if a stopper had loosened from somewhere within her construct, Kozue found herself crying for maybe the first time since that ruined concert from her childhood – the one where the brother she thought she could always rely on failed her; the hateful memory she had been struggling to forget via sex, via drugs, via the passing of years and youth, yet never could; never _ever_.

Just why was this making her feel so . . . moved?

"Nee-chan, do you have brothers?"

Sometime during her crying, the boys once wandering in the distance had since moved up to the bed, and were now facing her. Even through tear-blurred vision, Kozue now could see how these children were not really shadow-cloaked due to lighting; rather, the entire expanse of their flesh was pitch _blank_ as if absent from existence; only their hair, colored in reddish-brown and dark-blue, could be made out from their "silhouette-lite" features, upon which hung the identical elementary school soccer uniforms they currently wore. The penguins following them – one black, one blue – now were flanking them on either sides, their bead-like eyes unreadable as they watched her.

"You look like a sister, Nee-chan," said the "boy" with reddish-brown hair, his narrow arm placed around the thin shoulder of the dark-blue-haired one, who was still eating the donut. "Can your be our sister too?"

* * *

_Extra! Extra!_

_ Ah! That modeling gig we did last night was soooo fly!_

_ So very fly, that we've come flying right back to our old theatre roots!_

_ Well, a profession that pays by clothes alone could send any sane person flying back to their old roots._

_Anyway! _

_Do you know, do you know, do you wonder what we know?_

_ What do frogs and princes both have in common?_

_ Is it the princess's kiss? _

_ The muddied feet? _

_Or is it . . . ?_

_Oooh!_

_ Shall we go? _

_ Shall we go? _

_ Shall we tell them what we know?_

_. . . but!_

_ What of the barriers standing in our way?_

_ Barriers? What of the witches standing in our way?_

_No matter!_

_ Where there's a will . . ._

_ . . . there's a way!_

_ And . . ._

_ . . . so . . ._

_ . . . we . . ._

_. . . go-oo-oo-oo-oo!_

**End Part Three**


	4. Prince, Interrupted Main I

**Seinen Kakumei Utena**

Utena and its characters belong to its various owners.

**WARNING:** Parts of this work contain **depictions of** **transphobia**, **controversial** shoujo fantasy** trans situation **that** in no way reflects real life trans people**, and **misogynic** magic attack leading to** forced masculinization**

**Part Four: Prince, Interrupted – Main I**

"There was once a prince living among many princesses all enamored of him, and he had a sister who loved him more than all these princesses combined. Dios, the Rose Prince, was hailed as the hope of his world and was loved by all; he lived relied upon by all these princessess to battle the troubles in their lives for them – troubles that ranged from threats as fearsome as dragons to insipid matters like being lonely in the flower of youth; Dios' sister, on the other hand, was just an ordinary girl: you see, for a girl could only become a princess if the Rose Prince took her as _his_ princess, and the prince would never take his own sister to be his princess-"

"But why not?" asked Tsuwabuki, naively; he was promptly silenced by Nanami's glare and Miki's moody expression. Pinching between his brows to will down his uneasy agitation (that with him telling a tale that was to get increasingly personal amidst metallic hisses droning in his head), Tenjou Utena struggled to continue on.

"Anyway, Dios eventually collapsed from over exerting himself – he had taken on so many princessess under his cape that he himself got overwhelmed by their many troubles. He fell ill, bedridden, and was tended to on his bed by his sister. Reliant by nature, the many princesses and their brothers and fathers all gathered at the Rose Prince's door, all wielding swords," he stumbled slightly at this part, "demanding that he come out to help them with their problems." Dry-throated somehow, he took a quick gulp of tea, during which Wakaba timidly made her comment.

"Wielding their swords and . . . sounds like they're not asking nicely at all."

Swallowing, Utena closed his stressed eyes, opened them anew, and spoke on. "To protect her brother, Dios' sister went out to face the masses, telling them that she had hidden the Rose Prince somewhere only she knew, somewhere they could never reach by their power." He now saw the scene vividly in his mind's eye: the hordes and hordes of hateful women and men with their weapons drawn, advancing upon Anthy, only a flimsy child then. "The masses were livid with rage; they cursed the sister as a witch who took their Rose Prince from them, and they . . . they . . ." The image of the child Anthy in his mind was now overlapping with the adult Anthy presently facing him from behind the group, and he found himself rendered speechless by their identical expressions of dark, deathly resignation.

"And they . . .?" Shiori timidly prompted Utena to continue after the silence had dragged on too long.

"They pierced her with their swords," Utena's voice sounded almost inaudible to her own ear, so loud were the buzzing, metallic curses now flooding his head, "all one million of them, skewering the Rose Prince's sister until there was nothing left of the girl that once was, until only her pain and their hatred remained. When her brother, struggling out of his bed and up to the door, saw what the people had done, he . . ."

"He . . .?" Miki whispered the question, almost like he was talking to himself; Utena heard it nonetheless.

"He killed them," he answered his engrossed listener, "summoned what strength he had left in his weakened body and slaughtered his sister's murderers – all those girls he once cherished as his princesses, all their brothers he once valued as his friends, all their fathers he once respected as his elders – in cold blood. The moment Dios finished killing the people, he found himself no longer having the nobility that was key to his accessing his vast sum of princely power. Depleted, with a sword-ravaged sister who was a hair's breadth away from death, the fallen prince did the only thing his no longer noble mind could think of at the moment . . ." Through the hate-filled metallic haze, Utena saw Saionji opening his mouth, and hurried on before being interrupted once more. "He devoured the murdered lives – all one million of them – to empower his own; just like that, the prior illness left him, and he still was immortal; he still was far more powerful than the regular people, although he now was only a pale shadow of his former brilliant self. He then used what power he now could spare to restore his still-immortal sister – not back to the free-willed girl she once was, but to have her remade into a living doll." Utena's own voice started gaining a hate-filled edge. "The fallen prince _needed_ his sister to be a living doll with no will of her own, because only then could he made her took those swords that were all really aiming at _him_-" His sentence ended in a shrill wheeze, as a sharp pain akin to his getting stabbed through the back assailed his nerves. Jolting under the group's widened eyes, he would have fallen off his chair, if not for the lily-like arms embracing him from behind, as a familiar dark hand gently covered his heated forehead, relieving the pain somewhat.

"Himemiya," spoke Juri, her voice as concerned as it was cautious, "is Utena not well?"

"Utena has not been well for a very long time," replied Anthy, resting the back of Utena's head against her chest. "Not since she took the swords for me during the duel called Revolution. I thought that getting her to finally talk about this would help her release some of the bottled-up pain, but . . ."

"She took . . . the swords . . . for you?"

"It's because of the prince," Utena pushed the words out, breathily; his body still slacked against Anthy's embrace. "In his desperation, he consumed the souls of the murdered mob without properly _processing_ them, which was like eating uncooked, worm-infested meat – that's the closest analogy I can think of." Through heavy-lidded eyes, he saw a pallid-faced Nanami looking like she was about to throw up, and thought he could taste his own bile as well. "The man-eating prince did get nourished by the people's energies, but he also got infected by their hate-filled thoughts that in turn ate at his heart, drilling away till there was nothing left in his chest but unending darkness. The people's hate-filled thoughts – their _hatred_ - gained life from having consumed the prince's essence, and manifested into a million swords shining with hate; these hate-filled swords, parasitic and undying, swarmed the prince like thick swarms of flies, slicing and dicing at his tender flesh such that he could take no more, and had to quickly transfer them towards another host . . . " he hissed from renewed pain wrecking him from the inside, ". . . his own sister, who got turned into the Rose Bride locked in eternal servitude to the Rose Prince, who himself became the Ends of the World – a monster on an eternal quest to regain the lost Power of Dios, sealed behind the Rose Gate that will only open to a noble enough heart. Ohtori Academy and its Rose Code are meant for seeking out someone with nobility enough to open the Rose Gate for the Ends of the World, that's why we got put through all those things like we did." Grabbing onto the table with both hands, he leaned forward to face the ex-Duelists, and started glaring at them from one to the next. "All through the duels and the mind games, the Rose Bride had those . . . hateful swords inside her." Without thinking, he picked Saionji as the first. "When she was getting beat up by you." The man's stony expression turned brooding and heavy. "When you bullied her by making her wear a dissolving dress at your party." Nanami looked away sullenly. "When she played the piano for you." Miki's eyes clouded over with old shadows. "When you slapped her for mimicking Shiori-sempai." Juri's expression gained a regretful edge. "When you tried killing her to surpass Juri-sempai." Shiori's eyes were downcast. "When you tried killing her to become an adult." Tsuwabuki shook his head shakily in weak denial. "When you tried killing her for wearing the hairclip Saionji made for you." A single tear escaped Wakaba's widen, trauma-filled eyes; wearied, Utena closed his own. "And when I played the make-believe prince for myself and said I was doing it for her; all the while, Anthy was getting sliced and diced by the Million Swords of Hate, and we all overlooked her sufferings, thinking only of ourselves while chasing single-mindedly after those phony projections the Ends of the World was baiting us with!" Eyes snapping open, he slammed a fist down upon the table, sending all the plates and cups rattling in front of the petrified group; Anthy's embrace tightened around him, and he found himself struggling against it in his growing agitation and rage. Anthy's voice in his ear sounded alarmed

"Utena-"

"Shut up!" He snarled, recalling everything with mind-bending clarity now: his (her) being purposely blind to Ohtori Akio being The Ends of the World despite multiples of his trademark convertible being present during those last duels, his (her) underage virginity being taken by the virile (and engaged) seducer in that motel room, his (her) finding out about the animal raping his sister, his (her) subsequent use of feminine wiles to antagonize the raped sister while _competing_ with her for the monster's affection, his (her) hesitation to fight the devil even unto the final duel, where he (she) then got stuffed into the pink variation of the degrading Rose Bride dress . . . he grinded his bared teeth at the remembered humiliations.

"Utena!"

"_During_ the Duel called Revolution," said Utena, cutting Anthy off and spitefully continuing on with his cruel recollections, "when Himemiya stabbed me through the back so her brother and prince can have my soul sword to materialize the Rose Gate, when the Million Swords of Hate swarmed out to skewer her right in front of my eyes while I was wounded on the ground, when Dios showed up telling me that I have no power and cannot save Himemiya, when Akio broke my soul sword trying to break open the Rose Gate and said I wasn't good enough, when I stumbled over and opened the Rose Gate with bare hands and see Himemiya coffined inside, when she finally took my hand but fell out of my grasp when our world broke apart, when the Million Swords rushed me . . . I finally realized that everything turned out like this because I. WAS. JUST. A. GIRL!" Standing up with such violence that the table tumbled to plate-flying, cries-inducing effects, Utena then flung Anthy off him like the latter was a rag doll – a rough motion that send her hair pins flying off, her curvaceous frame slamming onto the floor in a splatter of dark, serpentine waves. Everyone else was now standing up, in fear in alarm and in absolute shock. Wakaba, his best friend from that accursed time, was the first who tried to reach him with words.

"U-Utena-sama . . ." Her shaky words trailed off as she, along with the rest of the ex-Duelists, stared at their Victor's lower front with bulged eyes like crude puppets. Lower his head, Utena too saw the source of their acute horror.

It was a sword's long, sharp blade, thrusting out point first from his groin like some grotesque symbolization of a virile manhood; this one out of a million had poked out from within the depths of his inner darkness, and was now was giving him its yet deepest cut by dehumanizing him with this obscene display.

None of those so-called old friends laughed at him, of course; not with the sword's impossible presence upon his body stunning them into imbecility; not with the expression of utter despair he knew he was currently betrayed by.

"This, is the outcome of the Duel called Revolution," he muttered, gesturing at himself while concluding the macabre tale he was made to tell. "This is what becomes of the stupid girl who thought she could become a prince."

None of them had anything to say to that, as the silence that marked the beginning of their reunion now returned like a recurring plague. All the people in the dinning room now were still as mannequins; only the shadows remained in motion, gliding by the pristine walls in perhaps a hint too lively a manner, considering the steadiness of the natural lights from the outside . . .

* * *

" . . . so this is what becomes of people who chose to die for love, huh?" murmured Kozue, her hand absently stroking the blue pelt of Number 3, seated on her lap and currently experimenting with the eye-pencil it had picked out of her vest pocket.

"That's right!" The featureless boy with reddish brown hair nodded vigorously through his mouthful of donut. "These people get the apple as their reward from God!" Some distance beside him, a smug-looking Number 1 was waving a heart-shaped cookie around, with the black penguin – one with a heart-shaped face – skipping excitedly around him.

"Kenji-san was very specific about this," the one with dark blue hair held up his paperback copy of "Night on the Galactic Railroad" with childlike authority. "It says right here that the apple is the universe itself, a universe that connects the previous world and this one!" From beside him, a bloom-yielding Number 2 was sweeping away the snack crumbs off the white bed sheets and into the "space" beyond.

"That's why good kids like us get to travel this glorious galaxy forever," said the brown haired one as he reached over to hi-five him, "yay us!"

"Wicked . . ." Kozue, who had been playing along with these peculiar boys (thus had to stay on their god-awful girly bed all the while), guided the inane conversation back towards her questions. "And you said you don't really remember much of anything before getting dropped off into this galaxy by this . . . train?"

"Blue Hair" drooped at the question. " . . . na uh, Nee-chan, not what we were doing, not where we came from." He gestured at the penguin in her lap. "If it weren't for Number 3 and that photo she carried, we wouldn't even remember that we had a sister."

"But we remember that we loved her," said "Brown Hair", "and somehow, we know that us being here means that she's fine where she is. So it's all good!"

"Heh . . ." A sharp pain pricked at Kozue's heart – she knew it to be the very spot once marked by the black rose – at the words of these loving brothers; Miki, who was her _twin_, had never shown her such consideration; not even from before she stopped playing the piano for him. "You know, I still don't know what your names are."

Even featureless, the brothers' body languages betrayed their confusion. "Names . . ."

"You boys even forgot your own names too?"

"Brown Hair" puffed up his chest in childish defiance. "Anyway . . . ! You can call me K-taro!" From beside him, "Blue Hair" did likewise.

"I'm S-taro!"

" . . . very good," Kozue pressed on, feeling strangely insistent at finding out everything about these strange children, "and what's you family name? You can just give me the initial . . ."

"Errr . . ."

_BEEP!_

With that sound, a pink, long-armed robot marked by a black rose motif wheeled its way past "K-taro" and "S-taro", leading them to chase after the amusing toy and away. They ran past Tokiko, who was carrying a tray of fresh-brewed tea and up towards the coffee table beside the red canopy-draped bed.

"Mikage sure is lively around little boys . . ." muttered Kozue as she took the refilled cup offered by the woman, who remained graciously un-offended as she seated herself beside the younger girl.

"They are most certainly Cursed Children of the Fate Train Transfer."

Kozue blinked at these terms. "Fate Train . . . Transfer?"

"Yet another cosmic force that has apparently been harnessed by the Ends of the World," said Tokiko, taking a long sip from her cup before continuing. "The materialization of the Fate Train, along with the Castle in the Sky and the Dueling Arena, were all sub-topics under Ohtori Academy's research to grasp Eternity from over thirty years ago."

"Around the time of that picture you had in the dinning room?" guessed Kozue.

"I was working for the Board of Directors at the time, foolishly hoping that Ohtori's research of Eternity will help buy time for my terminally ill brother." Tokiko's gaze was distant, faraway. "Of the one hundred academically strong youths selected into Professor Nerumo's research team, there was one who got exchanged out of the program with a backup right before the . . . fire." Kozue now could see a tenseness harshening up the woman's delicate features. "That boy was known to have the top intellect from among the brilliant group, and there was word that his Fate Train Theorem – supposing that people's fate are as "trains" upon which they are passengers, and that by 'transferring trains' people could supposedly take on another fate while leaving their original destiny behind – was near completion; but because the hundred had pledged their loyalty towards Himemiya Akio –Ohtori Akio now – they kept the actual progress of their work secret from even Nerumo and myself; in retrospect, the Fate Train Tranfer sounded like a too convenient trap with which Akio could ensnare desperate lives too eager to defy fate into serving his purposes. After the research building burned down and rendered all of those young men human fuel to power Ohtori's mechanisms, that lucky, genius boy went on to marry the young heiress of the Ohtori Clan; he became Ohtori Tsukiichi, the real Chairman of Ohtori Academy unto this very day."

"The real Chairman," murmured Kozue, "said to be ill throughout my time at Ohtori . . . I always thought _he_ was the heir, that with his foxy wife staying with him even though they all say he was a bedridden vegetable," an heiress' husband, whose own heiress of a daughter was engaged to that monster, now running things in his stead . . . the girl suddenly remembered something. "What happened to your brother in the end? He was the boy in that picture together with you and Mikage, right?"

Putting down her cup, Tokiko closed her eyes as if in dull pain. "Mamiya was dead to our world; but what actually did happen to him, was perhaps very similar to what's happened to these Cursed Children here."

Kozue felt like disagreeing with her here. "Hey, you call them Cursed Children . . . but even knowing they've lost their memories, these little brats still can move forward with their heads high . . ." _. . . if only Miki could be even half as tough . . ._

"Kozue-chan, have you ever cared for cut flowers?"

"Er? Well, usually Miki's the one to handle these kinda things around the house."

"When freshly cut and immediately put in sugared water, cut flowers will go through a period where they'd blossom even more vibrantly than prior the cut, but they will always wither ahead of the rooted flora in the end." Tokiko's eyes opened anew, a sharp glint scorching within their piercing depths as she observed the boys and their penguins all chasing after Mikage-bot. "Back when Mikage and I first picked them up about two weeks ago, these boys were not quite as featureless as they are now; they still can remember what city they're from, that they had a sister whom they had transferred onto another train prior to coming here . . . not anymore, it seems." At hearing that, a feeling of cold dread seeped into Kozue's heart.

"Then, these brothers . . ."

"Without foundations, buildings collapse; without precious memories, people collapse." Right then, Mikage-bot did an acrobatic spin that sent the boys and their penguins clapping. "At the rate they're deteriorating, it won't be long before these children are to become Invisible Souls."

Kozue's sucked in air at coming across yet another worryingly ominous term. "And _what_ are Invisible Souls?"

"The next step below the Invisible People – now already a country-wide phenomenon that still remains largely unnoticed by mainstream society, Invisible Souls are mindless shadows akin to the ones that's been haunting Ohtori." Tokiko turned her gaze towards Kozue. "Being so integral to Akio's games at the time, you must have seen something like that at the Academy." Kozue's eyes went wide at the woman's words . . .

. . . she had already donned the grab of the bride, and was idly watching the shadows on the wall acting out their demented play; Miki was taking awfully long in the shower, as if he still was uncertain about facing the upcoming duel . . .

" . . . oh."

"The only way to keep these children from fading further away is to make them remember," stated Tokiko. "Already I have hired people to look into possible clues of who they originally were, but there had been no progress so far – unsurprising, considering how these kids may not even be from our current reality ." She tapped a manicured fingertip against the sheet music she had been playing from earlier on, now laid upon the red bed. "This was brought to me by their familiars – you'd see them as penguins – on the night they all settled down here; it must have to do with their past. I play this for them everyday hoping it will slow down their deterioration, but . . ."

Picking up the sheet music, ironically titled "Children of Fate", Kozue studied the melody for a while, and then . . .

"I know

I'll never let you go . . ."

"Kozue-chan?" Tokiko appeared startled by the girl's suddenly breaking into song; Kozue too did not understand how these lyrics were coming so naturally to her just from her reading the notes. While she had studied writing lyrics in Ohtori at Miki's insistence (so she might put words to his Sunlit Garden), it had been years since she had worded any song at all; and her singing voice, which should be brittle from drug use, now came out in a well-rounded mezzo . . . the boys and the penguins had ceased playing, as they all now listened to her, rapt; she had to continue.

"Ah

And I miss

Your reckless frantic soul . . . "

Tokiko had since gone back to the "piano" (when did Mikage change back?), playing the tune from memory, modifying it somewhat to suit Kozue's singing; the four penguins, producing a flute, a cello, a violin, and a small trumpet respectively from seemingly out of nowhere, started playing together with the woman as they quickly formed a mini-orchestra of sorts, accompanying her now startling strong vocals.

"When the night is long I will be looking up at the skies and I'll see

My beloved ones walking by on that starlit galaxy

And I'll see the light you have shown to me"

Right as her voice sailed into the whistle register, a hail of what appeared to be large, stylistic pieces of blood drops exploded from in front of K-taro's and S-taro's small chests, startling Kozue into almost going off-key during her ad-libbing; a closer look revealed those to be stylized red penguin faces, all opening their beaks and _singing choral backup _as the song reached its power-demanding chorus.

"And I know

I'll never let you go

I'll never let you go"

As the song went on, more and more of K-taro's and S-taro's previously blanked-out features started "coming to light", revealing the brothers to be adorable lads; the complexities apparent in their harrowing expressions, however, belied their having world-scorched souls far beyond their apparent years.

"And I'll keep

You where you'll never fade

In my heart

I believe that we are never late

That we can conquer fate

That we can conquer fate"

The multiple red penguin faces dissipated as the song climaxed, leaving only the four "familiar" penguins behind with their owners, both wide-eyed as if having just been pulled back from a cliff they were about to fall into.

"We did it, didn't we?" Wide eyes wild, K-taro turned shakily towards S-taro, seizing the latter by his slim shoulders. "The Penguindrum . . ."

Almost teary-eyed, S-taro held onto K-taro with the desperation of a drowning man holding onto a float. "Our apple . . . she got it . . . didn't she?"

"Are you guys remembering?" asked Kozue, feeling eager at what she had achieved. "Then . . . should I sing more? If you guys can remember who you are . . . we can even bring you home to your sister-"

"No!"

The boys' unanimous, vehement reply caught her off guard. "No . . . ?"

"Nee-chan, we got transferred here just so our sister can stay alive and well on her end," said S-taro, with K-taro nodding from beside him with crossed arms.

"We are nonexistent in this new world we transferred her into; if we're to meet again, if she is to remember, if the world changed back . . . the curse upon her could get reactivated."

"She will be dying again, and the punishments that everybody went through will be for nothing! No, we're fine where we are."

"Punishments? What . . . ." Agitated now, Kozue raised her voice. "If this goes on, you two will fade!"

"We knew we'd fade away when we chose to die for her, Nee-chan," said K-taro, expression-resolved as his features again started dimming around the edges. "We've attained true light from saving her, that's enough for us."

"There's no need to feel sad for the likes of us, Nee-chan," said S-taro, his sad- eyed smile soon eclipsed by the blankness eating into his just regained flesh, "ours are but lows lives destined to become nothing. As long as our sister doesn't get hurt again . . ."

"What hurts every sister the most are brothers who don't look after themselves," stated Tokiko, in voice that was perhaps too stern to match her delicate features. K-taro and S-taro, now "shaded-in" once more, faced the woman blankly, prior to latching onto Mikage-piano and urging "it" to become a robot again (with their penguins watching them motionlessly instead of joining in the fray). Letting out a heavy sigh, Tokiko stepped away and towards Kozue.

"I suppose this is how it's going to be, for now." Gently,she took the sheet music from the sullen-looking young woman. "Thank you, Kozue-chan, you did very well in trying to help them."

"What's the use of trying?" Kozue's voice regained its usual bitter harshness. "This is just like how it was with those hatchlings from that endangered nest I tried saving. Miki and I spent days setting up a next box and caring for the young birds; but the parent birds never did came back for their young, and the little ones all got sick and died in the end." She remembered how she then just left the deadened mess there, and how her twin was the one to clean it up afterwards; that incident, which brought them closer to each other for a little while, ended up driving them even further apart than before. "Say, it's because of some magical magnetic field here that I can sing like that again, isn't it? It shouldn't be possible, not with my vocal cords all fried . . ."

"We can do many things we think are impossible," said Tokiko, her firm, mature-seeming conviction infectious enough to alarm the cynical girl, "so long as we're still willing to try."

"Oh, C'mon-"

_RING!_

What sounded like a household security alarm was now blasting through the once tranquil atmosphere of the starry "galaxy"; Kozue thought, for a moment, that she spotted the walls and edges of the _actual room,_ currently submerged underneath this eerie outer space.

"W-What?"

"They've come," eyes narrowing, Tokiko's once delicate-seeming figure now is taut with sharp angles and straight lines, "just like Himemiya-san said they would, once we've gathered everyone into this sanctuary."

"Who came?" asked the girl, noticing how K-taro and S-taro – along with their four penguins – were now standing in alert stances.

"Invisible Souls born of the unholy research to harness fate," the woman's agelss face now was frosting over as winter snow. "Ohtori's undying shadows."

* * *

"So . . . this is it?"

Refocusing his vision, since gone hazy from overwhelming pain and humiliation, Utena saw that it was Nanami who spoke.

"This is what you've learned from battling the Ends of the World?" asked the wide-eyed young blonde, her voice trembling from what could be either fear or outrage. "That to be a girl is to be weak? That being a man is equivalent to being strong? _This_, " she pointed a shaky finger at his sword-represented manhood, currently pulsing as per his heartbeat, "is your _**Revolution**_?"

Right then, two rounded sword handles popped out from between Utena's legs under the pulsing blade, juggling as if loosened; pushed past the limit of his self-control (and his sanity), Utena stumbled backwards while letting out a trail of broken, desperate noises that sounded at once like wheezing laughter and choked screaming. Anthy, her hair and house dress both disheveled from earlier violence, looked like she wanted to go up to him, but was held back by wariness.

"Nanami!" Juri hissed warningly at the blonde – who was wordless once more – then visibly steeled herself as she cautiously stepped up towards him. "Utena, it's oka-"

"It's _NOT_ okay!" Utena roared like a wild man from where she was backed against the wall, and even the assured ex-fencer went rigid at his despairing rage. "What more do you want me to say? I was bedridden in a nearby hospital for months and none of you came to see me! The Million Swords . . . they were plowing me inside out, night and day, calling me a girl a slut a witch a whore and ramming at my cunt my ass my mouth my breasts and none of the freaking doctors and specialists can see them!" His fingers started clawing at the wall, clamping down upon a small, random picture frame. "All this . . . all just because I WAS A GIRL!" He threw the item at Juri – who dodged – and it smashed a window screen that happened to be right above Wabaka's head.

In a rather dramatic display of athleticism, Saionji had pushed Nanami aside while sweeping Wakaba off her feet and aside, thus keeping both away from the showering glass shards. Putting the young woman (trembling as she curled up in a fetal position) down, the towering hulk of a man stomped right up towards Utena, and slapped him soundly the face amidst everyone's shocked gasps. The bigger man would have landed another hit, if not for Juri quickly diving forward to restrain him.

"What the hell are you doing?" snapped the woman, voice and expression stern enough to cut glass. "You . . . " Her voice trailed off at seeing the somber expression on Saionji's face, as he looked down upon the dumbfounded, wide-eyed Utena.

"You would never let any man, or anyone, slap you around back when you were just a stupid girl trying to be a prince." Saionji spoke in the voice of one in looking at a ruin that he knew was once spectacular and grand. "What happened to you, Tenjou?"

"Saionji . . ." Slowly, Utena drew the name out from between his clenched, bared teeth; he was filled to the blink with hate by now. "You . . . !"

"You used to be a prince among women," eyes narrowed, Saionji slowly shook his head as if in painful denial. "Now, you're just some sad, dickless punk who fakes it as a man, who feels sorry for himself and throws hissy fits like the lowliest of bitches." Grabbing Utena by the front of his tee, he lifted up the rage-filled trans man like the latter weighted nothing. "This is _your_ Revolution? You took the chance that should've been Touga's, and you just let it go WASTED!" He punctuated the last word by slamming Utena soundly against the wall amidst Juri's alarmed gasp.

"Get back!" Anthy's cry from behind them came not a moment too late, as numerous swords burst out point-first from all over Utena's body, from every single inch, their many tips would have skewered both Saionji and Juri, had those two not leapt backwards in time. Moving closer (more like huddled together) with the rest of the group, they all watched the giant metal sea urchin that used to be Utena in horrified awe; Utena, now totally eclipsed by the Swords and their hatred, could only glare balefully at them from where his body and mind got fenced in behind the walls of sharp metal.

"Are these . . .?" asked Juri, trembling in spite of her upright stance. Anthy, now standing in front of the group facing the pulsing, thrusting mass of outward pointing swords, nodded grimly.

"The Million Swords – the parasitic hatred that used to torment me back when I was the Bride; they've been infesting Utena for these past ten years."

"And you just _let_ them?" asked a hysterical Wakaba in fear and outrage. Anthy closed her eyes as if the Swords' very sight hurt her.

"If I could've found her earlier, before she tried escaping the Swords' ongoing assailment by physically erasing her own female gender, I still might have a chance of saving her myself. As it is now . . ."

"So these . . . they are the reason that Tenjou had to forsake her womanhood; had to butcher her body into becoming the mess that it is today;" muttered Saionji, eyeing the grotesque metals as if truly seeing them for the first time. "These, these are the maggots infesting this faux masculine form that is now her new coffin!"

"The swords cut into the weakest part of the individual's psyche," Anthy's voice was distant as if from another time and place, "it's from there that they zap strength from the mind to keep themselves nourished. Their host will all gradually lose their character, starting from the parts that were the most vulnerable to begin with." Her dark, delicate fists now were clenched into balls. "I believe you all know what I lacked back when I was Bride of the Rose; Utena now had lost something precious, something that she once had pre-Revolution."

"Her femininity," Miki's light tenor now sounded low and dark. "Or rather, her confidence in her femininity, in her being a woman." Blinking back tears, he turned away from the sword-ravaged spectacle that the Victor became. "She was such a charismatic, princely girl back then . . . and now . . . !"

"Well, is there anyway to get rid of them?" Nanami's voice came out in a squeak from where she now hid behind a trembling Tsuwabuki. "Like, maybe give these back to your monster brother? He was the one who killed those people in the first place!"

"That is indeed my intention," replied Anthy; back straight, fists still clenched, she lowered her head such that thick fringes now obscured her eyes. "It's for making that happen that I've gathered everyone here today."

". . . what do you mean?" asked Shiori, her fear visibly directed at not just the swords, but the former Rose Bride as well. Sensing this, and likely feeling much the same, all the others too started backing away from Anthy, whose voluminous long hair now was rippling in the still air as if tossed by wild winds; they were all watching her instead of Utena now, their eyes reflecting both fear and suspicion . . .

"Anthy . . ." Saionji started, but was hushed by Anthy raising a finger to her lips.

"Listen," she whispered under her breath, "they've come."

" . . .who?" asked Juri; warily, guardedly.

While the rest of the old gang still were as baffled as the ex-fencer, Utena already could sense _their_ presences from where he was buried beneath the raging, hateful swords.

They were surfacing upon a wall to the side, upon which the lights were all the brighter, the shadows all the darker; already impressions of long limbs and narrow torsos could be seen on the newly formed "shadow stage". As their peals of girlish giggles got louder and louder, even the gathering of shell-shocked ex-duelists now were beginning to take notice of these eerie creatures intruding into the already too fantastical scene. There appeared to be about three of them: two of them - one curly-haired, the other pigtailed – were carrying shadowy forms that resembled a carousel horse and a toilet seat-cover, respectively; the high-tailed one hogging the middle spot (one could tell by their body languages that she was indeed aggressively "hogging the spot") had both hands on her tall, phallic-shaped mic stand, and was yelling enthusiastically (while struggling not to get pushed off stage by the other two):

_Extra! Extra!_

_Do you wonder what we know?_

**End Part Four**

**Notes: **

My thanks go to **victor_vvv** on Penguindrum LiveJournal for providing me the name of the music score (Children of Fate) that Tokiko and Kozue performed for K-taro and S-taro to help them remember their past.

I'd also like to thank **Alan Harnum** for coming up with first names for Ohtori's real chairman (Tsukiichi), Mrs. Ohtori (Hoshimi), and Professor Nemuro (Chirikazu), in his undying classic Jaquemart: those are the names I'm going to use for the characters in the coming parts of Seinen Kakumei Utena.


	5. Prince, Interrupted Main II

**Seinen Kakumei Utena**

Utena and its characters belong to its various owners.

**WARNING:** Parts of this work contain **depictions of** **transphobia**, **controversial** shoujo fantasy** trans situation **that** in no way reflects real life trans people**, and **misogynic** magic attack leading to** forced masculinization**

**Part Five: Prince, Interrupted – Main II**

The water, crisp cold against his skin, was running so soundly by now that he was slowly but surely drifting out of his slumber.

Opening his eyes anew, he saw, to his great unsurprise, that same white, sterile ceiling – a sight that was starting to look awfully familiar to him after the past couple of days . . . or had it been weeks already? He could not say, being so out of it at the time when they picked him up and took him in; he had been in a constant daze since.

For, in return for their hospitality, they had taken the core of his being from him, leaving his already brittle mind in fragmented pieces.

No, that was not a statement he should make, not even if only in his thoughts unvoiced; he surrendered himself to them willingly; because that somebody he once loved (and still would've loved, had things turned out differently) had helped him, and now needed his help; and the only way he could help his love, as he was now, was to give them his strength such that it became their strength, so they might better face the hurdles ahead.

The very first of such hurdles – perhaps the highest one yet in the series to come – would be for the one he loved to face _them_.

He himself knew, first hand, how old acquaintances were the toughest to face during a downhill moment in life; plenty were those who once would give up arms and legs to be termed as his friends, who then showed neither interest nor mercy towards him when they crossed paths in recent years. Liar and hypocrite that he was, he pushed his love into the lion's den that he himself feared to tread, telling her that the old gang will accept what she became – all so she can "get help" (in spite of the pains he _knew_ she would suffer under such "helpers" – all for a straw's chance at her salvation).

" . . . only a fool believes . . ."

"Chu!"

Murmur cut off by the soft, mousy chirp, he turned his head to see an urgent-looking Chu-Chu pushing at his bared shoulder with a warm paw, as if willing him to get up. He sighed.

"Your owner now carry my might, so there's no need for me to go out there to help; you need not fret."

"Chu!" The intelligent creature shook his head frantically, and gestured at the rushing water rising steadily around him up the porcelain dent. "Chu! Chu!"

"Troubled as it is, this water is only a metaphor – it can't hurt me," he explained to the creature, knowing that it would understand, "after all, one cannot drown twice in the same sorrows." No, one could only rot and dissolve underneath that which he could not escape; losing form, sinking downwards . . .

"Chu . . ." Chu-Chu sat at he edge of the porcelain and looked at him with his beady eyes, refusing to move.

"Just won't leave me alone, will you?" Somewhat touched by the creature's persistent concern (how much more simple and sincere were animals compared to people), he raised a wet hand, and petted the animal's head like he would a naïve child. He remembered now: he once was a boy who loved animals. Even as an older teen masked underneath a sophisticated front, he had gushed over receiving something as simple as a pet cat; it was only after _that_ happened, after everything that followed, that he forgot about pets, forgot about animals, forgot about everything but the bottomless abyss he had been falling endlessly down for the past ten years. "Well then, how to pass time, kid?" A languid, bittersweet smirk came upon his sultrily curved lips. "I know, how about a story? Let me tell you . . . there once were two little victims who thought they would always help each other to go on living, and they came upon another little victim grieving alone in the night.

" 'Being alive is so sickening,' said this lone little victim – a little girl whose parents died from a terrible event, who now hid herself in a strangely present coffin placed beside those of her dead parents. 'How can people go on living when they know they will one day die? Eternity doesn't exist, so it's all right now. I'll just stay here in this coffin, never to come out into the sun again.'

"A disagreement broke out between the original two victims – boys suffering different abuses – regarding what they should do with this other victim – the orphaned girl: the more impulsive boy wanted to save the little girl by draggng her out of the coffin, while the worldlier boy knew to leave her be in her mad despair. The little boys ended up arguing and leaving the little girl still in her coffin, with their own green friendship now sorely tested by one's annoyance with the other, and the other's sense of inadequacy.

"The next morning, the little boys saw the little girl out and about attending her parents' funeral, and took it as the girl having left her coffin. Seizing the opportunity, the worldlier, craftier of the boys put on an act of having shown her something eternal; the other boy, impulsive and innocent, abruptly realized that they were no longer kindred spirits, that he was being left behind in victimhood . . . and the cracks in their once unmarred relationship started broadening into wide gaps.

"Much later, the boys would, on the verge of manhood, discover that the girl they once thought was saved was in fact still inside her coffin; not only that, but the boys themselves too had remained trapped inside their own coffins of victimhood, through childhood and youth, _for all those years_.

"The boy victims, wanting to help break the girl out of her coffin, and wanting break out of their own coffins themselves, joined forces as they tried saving the girl their way; the girl, trapped but still very spirited, fought their help insisting that she did not need saving; she claimed that she was no longer a victim entrapped, but had instead become a coffin-breaker who could break open the accursed coffins keeping living victims dead and trapped. The worldlier boy, seeing her coffin –and her attachment to the ones who kept her in it – clearly, called the girl a fool; the girl, unfazed, proudly admitted to being one, as she moved gloriously ahead with her coffin-breaking quest. So impressed were the boys by the girl's conviction and her power, that they were content to step back and let the girl take care of things; they believed, at the time, that this special, spectacular person could save herself; save them, save everyone all by herself.

" . . . but was that really such a good idea?"

* * *

Being "special", as Shinohara Wakaba had come to realize, was not all it was cracked up to be.

Up until yesterday afternoon, she had been leading a murkily mundane existence as one of the countless bottom dwellers at a sales-numbers-driven magazine. It was not like she was living in despair or anything: her superiors were not especially harsh, nor her colleagues especially antagonistic; these people, like those from most other cooperate settings, were simply habitual takers – people who routinely take credit for all the extra work they make other people do, in ways at once thoughtless and mechanical. Working with them, she felt like a cog in a vast construct – just a handy tool _there_ for the more "special" people in the company (the so-and-so's sons, and daughters, and nephews, and nieces . . .) to make use of – with the keeping of a dead-end, low-wage job her only reward reaped.

Then came her boss, walking up to her desk with a gazed-over look in his tiny eyes, telling her that a "Himemiya-san from Château Princesse" is waiting for her down at the lobby's information desk, and that she can take as long as was needed entertaining this guest, even calling the rest of the day off. Seeing all those life-deadened eyes around the open office now sparkling with envy as they glared heatedly upon her, the young woman almost thought it had just been announced that she was getting to entertain the U.S. First Lady.

"Haven't you been reading our own magazine at all, Shinohara?" snapped a (particularly gossipy) colleague at her question as to what the fuss was about. "The woman had been spotted at almost all the major high society balls for the past month! Rumor has it that she is a top courtesan who has all the power players of the financial district eating out of her hand; remember that apocalyptic stock market plunge from two weeks ago? They say she's the one behind it, raking in the big bucks while countless seasoned investment firms go bankrupt! I swear, Shinohara, if you keep on drifting through life like this, you'll remain always a leaf and never a flower . . ."

Riding the elevator down to the lobby (all the while checking her own reflection on the mirror walls as she quickly wiped the sweat-grease off her nose), Wakaba found herself feeling more than a little fretful over the upcoming meeting. Of course she remembered Himemiya Anthy: that subdued, dowdy girl at Ohtori whom all the boys – including the Kendo Club Captain she liked at the time – were strangely attracted to; whom all the girls hated . . . except for her tomboy best friend at the time, who actually got into a fight with her over her accidentally splashing the dark girl. Just what kind of stunning flower had that bespectacled yet bewitching kid blossomed into?

The elevator doors parted, giving her an unobstructed view of the information desk, and the one currently waiting for her there.

Hourglass figure delicately wrapped under an elegant dress that Wakaba knew would cost more than her annual income (that was excluding the tasteful, matching designer's handbag and shoes), the grown up Himemiya Anthy positively _glittered_ despite a stark absence of jewelry. Naturally heavily lashed green eyes (revealed to be exquisite now that they were no longer masked under plain-Jane glasses), narrowed in a serene smile as the dark beauty bowed lightly at her; Wakaba, awed by her old school mate's stunning presence, quickly bowed back and hurried up to her.

Leading her to settle down at an elegant café down the block (all the while smilingly nodding at her nervous, cutesy babbling about how gorgeous the woman now was, how sexy her hair looked half up half down, how expensive her handbag must be, and all that pointless crap), Himemiya cut straight to the point right after the waiter had taken their orders:

"Shinohara-san, Utena needs your help."

Wakaba's eyes widened at her words. "Utena . . . sama?" So, Tenjou Utena, her best friend from childhood and youth who left Ohtori without telling her, still had kept in touch with Himemiya after all. Had Utena really thought of her as a best friend, Wakaba wondered, or was she to Ohtori's star athlete but one insignificant fan girl out of the dozens, no one special at all?

"It's not like that, Shinohara-san," said Himemiya, startling the young woman who just got read like an open book. "She got expelled from Ohtori under circumstances beyond her own control, and was left badly hurt; she could not have contacted you even if she had wanted to."

"Utena-sama got hurt?" asked Wakaba, in surprise and genuine worry. "What happened at the time? There were so many rumors floating around school about her leaving, but nobody really knew for sure: I didn't even know where to start looking for her, since she had no parents. I thought about asking you, since you've somehow gotten so close to her at the time, but then you left too; and then . . ."

". . . and then your father got transferred overseas, and your whole family moved with him out of the country." Himemiya continued her sentence for her, smoothly. "After leaving, you wrote a few letters back to your friend Kazami Tatsuya, asking him if he heard anything about Utena's whereabouts, but you never got any of his letters back; you've not contacted anyone from Ohtori since."

Like stealth fingers, the woman's words send chills creeping down Wakaba's spine. "How'd you know all that?"

Himemiya's eyes – trained upon her – were soft with empathy. "Kazami-san never got your letters, Shinohara-san: Ohtori had an invasive mail-scanning system in place; no letter can get past its walls without my brother's approval."

"The Acting Chairman . . ." Wakaba remembered the man to be strikingly handsome and charming; to the point that she envied Utena for getting to stay with him courtesy of her friendship with Himemiya. "But why would he do something like checking through students' letters? What is he . . ." and just like that, she suddenly remembered her instinctive distrust of the peculiar Himemiya from all those years ago, ". . . what're _you_?"

"My brother is someone who needs to be stopped, and I plan to stop him," replied Himemiya, not exactly answering her question. "Utena getting hurt ten years ago, Kazami-san being exploited since . . . he is the one behind it, reaping the benefits born of their pains. Shinohara-san, will you help Utena and I destroy him once and for all?"

Wakaba found her head swimming from the onslaught of jarring info. "Tatsuya's being exploited . . . how? And Utena . . .wait." Only now did her brain started processing the woman's actual request. "Destroy your brother? Like how . . . kill him? And for what, invasion of student privacy? Shouldn't you people go to the police if he's doing something nifty? Or did he . . ." Her babble trailed off at seeing Himemiya produce a black velvet box from her handbag.

"Perhaps this can help you better understand." Himemiya pushed the box across the table and at her. "Here, Shinohara-san."

"What's this?" Taking the box, Wakaba opened it to find a torn, wrinkled envelope. Reaching into it, she pulled out a small, water-stained note written in Tatsuya's boyish, slightly rigid handwriting:

I'm almost transparent to you; you can hardly see me.

I don't want to become invisible; I won't just become nothing.

I will be seen; if not by you, then by everyone else around you.

"This is a letter that Kazami-san sent you a month after you left," supplied Himemiya, her voice sounded miles away to Wakaba's ear, so focused was the young woman on the note. "It got intercepted by one of my brother's ex-helpers, one whom I've come across only years afterwards. By that time, what's done to him had been done."

"What is Tatsuya talking about here?" Wakaba was feeling hopelessly lost now. "I don't understand-" A slight, shuffling sound caught her attention. Glancing down, she noticed, for the first time, that the inside of the velvet box had a cushioning of small, dark rose buds. Impossibly, those rose buds now were rapidly blossoming in animated vortexes of ink-black petals; a lighter-colored rose, budding in the middle, spread its green petals to reveal not a flower's heart, but rather, a leaf-shaped hair clip handcrafted from wood . . .

_. . . standing under an inverted castle, upon an arena in the sky, pointing the sword she robbed from Saionji-sempai at her "Utena-sama", who was never even her friend to begin with. See? There she was in her non-regular, mock-Student-Council uniform, defending that witch/bitch/cunt who took away her everything without even having to try . . . _

Screaming, Wakaba scrambled backwards and away from the table, backing until her back hit the glass window wall, against which she now was trapped. "Y-You . . you! Saionji-sempai . . . Utena-sama . . . I . . ." Still seated, Himemiya pinned the traumatized young woman to her spot with her steady gaze.

"I apologize for having to make you remember that, Shinohara-san, but you need to understand: my brother is a monster above the laws of your world. Only a chosen few have what it takes to bring him down, and you're one of them."

Even amidst the current eerie circumstance, being termed as "chosen" made Wakaba tingle inside. "But . . . Himemiya-san, I mean . . .you were . . ."

"Indeed I was the one behind your pains at the time, manipulating you against Utena on my brother's orders," admitted the woman, readily. "But I am his slave no longer – Utena had freed me from that. Since I've finally managed to find her three years ago, Utena and I have been helping each other to go on living."

"Then it took you seven years to find her," murmured Wakaba. So, even Himemiya got separated from Utena for many years prior to their reunion – it wasn't like the other woman was any closer to her best friend as she herself was, thought a still very juvenile part of her with much pleasure.

"But there is no living for Utena as she is right now," Himemiya spoke on, giving no hint of having detected Wakaba's childish gleefulness, "not unless I can defeat my brother, and take from him the power to reverse the hurt that Utena now is suffering under. And there is Kazami-san too, who succumbed to the same darkness as you once did, and has remained enslaved by my brother since. Lately, I've been doing a number of things to weaken the Ohtori Clan's – my brother's main backers – influence over Japan's financial and political worlds, just to lower the number of his goons here in this outside world; but as to his actual _powers_ . . ."

Tenjou Utena, her school idol best friend from ten years ago, in trouble and now waiting for her help; Kazami Tatsuya, her white bread guy childhood friend, also in trouble, also needing her help; Himemiya Anthy, a wealthy and powerful . . . whatever she was, came to her _asking_ for help . . .

"Shinohara-san," Himemiya leaned forward, her stance all business-like in its formality. "You are one of those few special people who can withstand the Light of the World; this means that you have the potential to be a Duelist – a fighter capable of delivering damage to even one like my brother. I've since recruited most of the former Student Council, plus some others, towards the cause; if you're willing to join us . . ." The woman went on to talk about how she had already taken measures to maximize the Duelists' safety in the upcoming battle, and how they shall all be sumptuously rewarded for their efforts . . . Wakaba could only make out a few disjointed words here and there, so heady was she by the revolutionizing revelation revealed.

Even flowers need their leaves to stay in bloom – Shinohara Wakaba is every bit as special as those rich, blooming elites whom she had envied for her entire life.

" . . . already agreed to hire you as junior editor; as for that romance serial novel you've been pitching for years, there'll be a literary agent coming in contact with you within the month-"

"I'll do it," proclaimed Wakaba, feeling so empowered at the moment that she would have agreed to slay dragons on the spot. "Let me be the one to help Utena-sama!"

Which brought her to here and now, huddled fearfully against more notable former schoolmates as they all gawked stupidly at the large, pulsing cluster of outward-pointing swords – buried underneath which was her no longer female adolescent best friend – and the conveniently blank dinning room wall upon which shadowy, humanoid forms acted out as if on stage:

_Long time no see, our dear old fans!_

_Do you know?_

_ Do you know?_

_ Do you wonder what we know?_

_ The ugly frogs!_

_ The handsome princes! _

_ They actually have something very much in common!_

_That's right!_

_ Frogs and Princes alike . . . _

_They'll both undergo metamorphosis under the right circumstances!_

_ Take the White Horse Prince! (waved cardboard carousel horse)_

_ Don't you mean Prince on a White Horse?_

_ Anyway . . . ! He thought he'd stay noble to the very end, fighting dragons, dating princesses . . . BUT! (produced cardboard girl with multiple swords sticking into her like pins)_

_ Meh sister, no!_

_ Seeing his own sister destroyed by the people he once protected with his life was just too much for him, the poor thing; and so, he became . . . the Devil Prince! (waved cardboard horned devil wearing prince's crown and garb)_

_Meh Prince, no!_

_ And the Girl Prince! (waved cardboard girl in crown and prince garb)_

_ Don't you mean the Tomboy Prince?_

_Anyway . . . ! She was the lone girl on the boys' team, attracting girls, attracting men . . . BUT! (produced cardboard "devil prince" plus carboard bloom-wielding witch, who both proceeded to plummet the girl prince)_

_ My Prince, no! My Witch, double no!_

_Getting bitch-slapped by her man, then back-stabbed by her woman was apparently too much for the poor girl; and so, she became . . . the Trans Prince! (cardboard girl was now placed such that it rode the phallic mic between her legs) _

_Meh Prince, no!_

_ And . . . (lifting a toilet seat amidst sounds of drum roll) . . . last but not least-_

The crisp sound of clapping cut off the hypnotic shadow play's momentum, irreparably, thus allowing for the Ohtori group to recover their wits as they turned towards Himemiya, now applauding the shadows with a scorching glint within her smiling eyes.

"I had an inking that you three would come for us in spite of the barriers guarding this place," she said, "and you did. Bra-vo."

Watching those Shadow Girls (as she had come to call them), Wakaba abruptly remembered that she had seen these ghostly entities from long ago, back in Ohtori, back when she had easily accepted them as part of the school's semi-surreal reality. How did she ever manage to forget about them, she wondered; something this surreal, this strikingly . . . then she remembered the ease with which she had "forgotten" her best friend Utena but months after leaving Ohtori herself, and realized that it really was all to easy to forget anything not present in the here and now.

". . . you _know_ we couldn't resist coming," said a Shadow Girl to Himemiya, all the while self-consciously twirling her own high tail, "that with like most of the main cast together again after our very looooong wait."

"You guys left the story hanging just when it was getting good!" The pigtailed one hugged herself while spinning with a ballerina's grace. "There was battle, there was romance, there was _revolution_; and then . . . what, nothing?"

"Basically, we just can't stand that so-called open ending," drawled the remaining one adjusting the ribbon atop her curly-haired head. "What's with the girl prince losing her grip on the witch princess just when things were starting to look so hopeful to us audiences? And the way the sidekick characters were all so eager to forget the heroine, thus undermining a good chuck of her princely presence; our Utena-sama, who helped everyone throughout her heroic journey, had to metamorphose on her own at those unlicensed, underground clinics that left her body wrecked by aftereffects . . . and talking about wrecked, there're the swords too. For Utena-sama to have to go through all that, that's just . . . _wrong_!"

"Wrong, indeed," agreed Himemiya, her voice cool as an autumn stream running in the night, "is that why you're again showing up to rub salt in our wounds by giving your lively takes on our misfortunes?"

The shadow girls actually looked somewhat embarrassed now. "Err . . ."

"The three of you have always thrived on the stories of others, even since back before you all got put through the Research; following Hoshimi-chan around as her personal entourage, mocking where you can, jabbing where it hurts . . ." Abruptly, Himemiya's voice and expression both brightened up, such that she appeared cheerful as a cardboard sun. "So, would you three like to listen to _another_ story, one that's even more riveting than our tale of old?"

"Another story?" The shadows were taken aback. "But we already have our hands full making fun of yours-"

"We've got _star-studded_ storytellers here ready to say their piece," said Himemiya. "Isn't that right, Chida-san?"

"Indeed."

Before Wakaba even had time to wonder where Chida-san's voice was coming from, the edges of the wall the shadow girls were gliding upon suddenly darkened into what appeared to be a brilliant outer space, which quickly eclipsed inward such that the bright "shadow-play area" now was a surrounded "island" upon that dark, glittery space. Numerous figures now were coming out from within the starry zone: elegant Chida Tokiko, with a hesitant-looking Kozue by her side, and the penguins (there were four of them now) bumbling after two shadow-covered little boys (but somehow their hair and clothes remained clearly visible) now running up towards the Shadow Girls, who appeared to recoil in shock.

"W-Whoa . . . what?"

"Nee-chans!" The boys (revealed to be eerie creatures with pitch-blank faces and flesh) ran right up to the edge of the "shadow-play area" in childlike exuberance. "Do you know, do you know, do you wonder what we know? That's right, the apple is a gift for those who chose to die for love!"

"Apple? What kinda metaphor is that?"

"Just hear us out: the apple is a universe in itself . . ."

"That should keep them occupied for a while yet," eyes bright and feline-like, Chida-san walked up to beside Himemiya. Adopting a gallant stance, the taller woman then hovered a delicate palm over the darker woman's supple chest, with her other hand placed at the small of the latter's back "Ready, Himemiya-san?"

Nodding, Himemiya then arched backwards in an almost mechanical motion, and started glowing at the chest. Amidst the bright rays and phantom winds suddenly engulfing the two, Chida-san drew back her palm, and two objects – a sword hilt and a sword blade – got pulled out of the light as if by invisible strings, the sight of which induced a gasp from Tsuwabuki-kun.

"I-Is that . . ."

"Utena's soul sword," Juri-sempai eyed the objects grimly, "snapped in half."

Indeed, those were two halves of a broken sword, radiating a signature-like aura that Wakaba immediately recognized as that of her old friend; there was a melancholic sense of loss radiating off the damaged item, one that forced involuntary tears out of the young woman's eyes.

"Utena-sempai told us earlier about Akio-san breaking her soul sword . . . no wonder; how tough she was to have survived even something like this," murmured Miki-kun out loud; standing beside him, a now more sober-seeming Kozue narrowed her eyes at what was still emerging from within the light.

"I see another sword coming out . . ."

Saionji-sempai and Kiryuu Nanami both widened their eyes at the new sword in spite of the light.

"Oni-sama!"

Kiryuu Touga's soul sword, while whole unlike Utena's, radiated sheer pain instead of melancholy. Lower lip quivering, Nanami tried going up to the sword (now hovering in midair underneath Utena's snapped blades), but Saionji-sempai held onto her.

"Wait . . ."

In front of everybody's stunned eyes, Touga's sword "melted" into a boiling liquid mass, one that quickly splashed upwards to engulf Utena's broken weapon; in no time at all, a new, singular sword materialized out of the fluid metals, and Wakaba knew this new blade represented a strong bond – a togetherness beyond friendship, beyond love – between these stunningly special people.

Before the group had time to further dwell upon the implication of the merged soul sword, the shrill scrapping of metal against metal drew their attention towards the countless swords walling in Utena; whereas they were only pulsing slugging before, the swords now were sharpening their edges against each other in what appeared to be boiling bloodlust, as more and more of them started grinding their gleaming lengths out from what gaps there were between the blades. Ghostly sounds, uttering coarse curses in innumerable overlapping voices, started to fill the air like the drones of a vast locust swarm:

_. . . witch, butch, whore, catamite, sissy, girl-boy, boy-girl, freak . . ._

"The Million Swords shining with human hatred," Chida-san, now grabbing the soul sword by its hilt and pointing it at the ever-growing mass of hate-filled blades, spoke in awe and contempt, "again they stir at the sight of a worthy prince's sword." Still arched backwards against Chida-san's hold, Himemiya reached a glowing hand up to the woman's chest, and pulled from there another sword; judging by the vibes it gave, Wakaba judged it to also be two soul swords merged into one: Tokiko's and Mikage's. Sleekly straightening up, Himemiya swished her sword down such that it's point touched that of the Utena/Touga soul sword, with both soul swords now pointed towards the Million Swords; the hate-filled weapons all were soundly vibrating now, as they pointed back at the soul swords like loosened metal studs drawn by a strong magnet. Despite her growing fear, Wakaba felt something hot budding within her chest, seemingly eager to burst out; she realized that she was not alone in feeling this way, as the others gathers too were displaying a peculiar expression that she knew mirrored hers.

"Duelists," Himemiya called out to them, her hardened eyes never leaving the increasingly animated pile of hate-filled swords, "draw your swords, and touch their tips to ours."

"W-What?" Wakaba could not believe her ears; the others looked equally shocked by the woman's request as well.

"All Duelists O' Black Rose or otherwise, draw. Your. Swords!"

"But-"

In a deafening roar of metallic droning, the many Swords of Hate rushed forward in one colossal, dragon-like mass towards Himemiya and Chida-san; Wakaba thought for a heart-stopping moment that the women will be grinded to nothing right in front of her eyes, but the swords somehow all managed to only impact the pointy joined tips of the touching soul-swords, before getting repelled away and towards the Shadow Girls, who all somehow remained oblivious as blade after blade disappeared into the _void_ of their forms that she once mistook as shadow; they still were listening to the Shadow Boys' strange story, engrossed.

"I get it now!" Miki slammed a fist against his palm. "They're using the soul swords of princely people to bait the parasite swords away from Utena and into the shadows!"

"Hurry and come help us!" Visibly strained as she kept her sword up against the swarm of sharp blades, Chida-san snapped at them in an uncharacteristically harsh voice. "Four souls alone cannot withstand the Million's onslaught for much longer!"

Shiori's trembling voice was almost inaudible against the thunderous sounds of clashing metals. "But . . . the swords . . ."

"Did you not all gather here with resolve to help Utena?" asked Himemiya from between gritted teeth; sweat could now be seen glistering upon her dark, flushed skin.

Wakaba looked around, and saw that everyone – ex-Student-Council members or otherwise – all looking like they were poised to draw their swords, but were all held by hesitancy in face of the infinite-seeming swarm of blades originating off Utena – still completely buried even after so many swords had since come off.

Everyone was actually willing to help, but none dared being the first to so; not when the possibility that others may not follow suit means certain death/damnation for the lone ones helping.

And, without the first to step up and help, there could be no second, nor third . . .

Only one question remained for the young woman faced with this situation: was she, always a leaf and never a flower, _special_ enough to break the shackles of hesitancy holding back even the most noble of roses, so that the best friend of her youth can have a chance at salvation?

. . . so that Tatsuya, trapped by the enemy according to Himemiya, might also be saved?

Closing her eyes against the intimidating swarm of hate-filled swords, Wakaba placed a trembling palm over her boiling, hurting chest, and pulled.

* * *

". . . Tenjou-kun,"

Waking up against his naked, beautifully-proportioned body, with strains of his long red hair brushing against her skin, Utena opened her eyes to see Kiryuu Touga's flawless face smiling down upon her.

"Touga . . . how often have we done this before?"

"Many times . . . in my dreams."

Running her fingertips across his smooth, unmarred cheek, Utena abruptly drew back as if noticing something off. "Your face . . ." Glancing down, she inspected her own unclothed, feminine body with wide, surprised eyes. "I'm a girl again!" She turned back toward Touga, feeling at a loss. "How . . ."

Blue eyes warm with indulgence, Touga pointed a long finger off to the side, where she saw what appeared to be a shadow play upon a vast monochrome tableau: the only substantial thing in this vague space aside from their own presences.

The shadows depicted the scene of what appeared to be a mob lynching: a vast swarm of sword-wielding villagers (as their silhouettes suggested that they wore medieval country-side garments) were rushing a much smaller group all wearing something reminiscent of Ohtori's dueling uniforms. Wielding their own swords against the villagers, the group could be seen straining to push what they could of the ferocious mob off a cliff to the side, below which perched a three-headed dragon whose sharp back spines impaled the fallen as spears. The round-headed girl at the front of the group – standing ahead of even the goddess-like silhouette with the rippling long mane – had both hands on her sword as she slashed desperately at the villagers, and Utena gasped out loud as she recognized who that was.

"Wakaba! What's she . . ." No, not just Wakaba, each and everyone of the Duelists recruited by Anthy was there, Black Roses or else; they all were there, wholeheartedly battling the hate-filled villagers using every last ounce of their respective strengths and skills, determined to push every last one of their assailants off the cliff and out of the picture.

Voices, sounding afar as if seeping through another medium, still could be heard:

" . .. tena-sama! I'm not scared! I'm plenty special enough to fight for you, just like you've always fought for me before!"

"Get a grip, you damned tomboy! Can't you see you're dragging my Oni-sama down with you?"

"Tenjou! This time, I'll smash your goddamned coffin and drag you back out if it's the last thing I do!"

"Utena-sempai! Hang in there! I think we're almost at the five hundred thousand mark by now!"

"Utena! If you can believe in anything at all, please believe this: we'll definitely fight by your side until the very end; this time, let us all help you to go on living! We . . ."

"They surprised me, actually," mused Touga, idly running a hand through his hair. "Whatever ulterior motives they may have for coming here, these people are now putting their lives on the line to help you." He paused for a moment, during which the sounds of violent battle raged on in the background. "There was a time whey you needed them, and they weren't there for you; but now, they're all here risking themselves fighting for you. Of course this cannot undo the years of hurt you've suffered through alone . . . but this moment of passion in this here and now . . . isn't this worth something too?"

Vision blurring from tears, Utena nodded her head firmly, all the while willing herself back to reality, to where everyone awaited her return.

Whatever gender or body she now had, whatever hardships she faced, Tenjou Utena _always_ fought her own battle.

**End Part Five**


	6. Prince, Interrupted Main III

**Seinen Kakumei Utena**

Utena and its characters belong to its various owners.

**WARNING:** Parts of this work contain **depictions of** **transphobia**, **controversial** shoujo fantasy** trans situation **that** in no way reflects real life trans people**, and **misogynic** magic attack leading to** forced masculinization**

**Part Six: Prince, Interrupted – Main III**

The moment his soul sword touched the joined blades, against which the swarm of flying, adversarial swords were hammering violently against, Saionji Kyouichi immediately understood the reason behind Anthy and Chida-san's strained expression – one that Tenjou's friend Wakaba (a spectacularly brave woman whom he shall forever in his mind associate with Joan of Arc) now also displayed.

It was agony.

Agony, like the ones from getting blow-beaten by his father's merciless kendo bokken, exploded across his hand despite none of the Swords of Hate even touching him.

"It's like . . . fire's burning where I'm holding the hilt," wheezed Wakaba, who nonetheless kept a firm grip on her soul sword with both hands, its sharp tip now repeated impacted by the hate-filled sword points.

"The Swords of Hate inflict phantom pain," explained Chida-san, her once orderly short-fringe now ruffled from the wild winds swept up by the crashing blades, "vivid impressions of hurt even when the body is actually unharmed. Even with these soul swords largely buffering its effects, remnants of the faux discomfort still can impact our psyche."

"If this is what the Swords feels like 'buffered', then Utena-sempai really is incredible for staying coherent even after a decade under their effects," said Miki, wincing in apparent ache as he kept his sword up with the rest of those raised.

"How it must have been like for Utena, especially in those seven years before Himemiya found her," murmured Juri, looking strained and regretful but still upholding her perfect fencer's stance. "Back then, If only I had -"

"Juri," drenched in sweat, Shiori-san held the taller woman's gaze and shook her head (all the while still holding up her own soul sword); the latter's moodiness lightened, as she affectionately ruffled the smaller-woman's maroon-haired head.

"Different people will sense different kinds of agony – usually the kind they fear the most – from the Swords," said Anthy, rich serpentine long locks flaring as she now emitted an ethereal glow that Saionji knew was already largely soothing everyone's senses, "but it's all in the mind. And, the more people there are to shoulder the pain together, the less painful it will be for everyone."

"Just _where_ is my Oni-sama?" demanded a red-faced Nanami, who strained to uphold both soul sword and dagger against the brutal metallic onslaught. "Why isn't he here with us when his soul sword is right in your hand?" Beside her, Tsuwabuki was panting like a beaten puppy as he had a hand holding up one of Nanami's (the one carrying the heavier sword), while struggling to hold onto his own blade with the other.

"Kiryuu-sempai entrusted his soul sword to aiding Utena," replied Anthy, eyes focused on a red thread of light tied around the soul sword's hilt now slowly coming undone. "he will show up when he chose to."

"What _are_ those Shadow Girls?" asked Tswabuki, wincing as he observed the endless stream of swords sailing into the Shadow Girls' shadowy depths (still oblivious to the swords, they remained engrossed in an animated discussion with the featureless Shadow Boys over their story, all the while being entertained by the apple-juggling acts currently performed by the penguins (two blue ones numbered "1" and"2", joined by an unnumbered black one) hanging around). "I see them around Ohtori, sometimes even around the University Division . . . they don't seem to know that the swords are stabbing them, and they don't seem to care about what's going on even . . ."

"The swords can only hurt those who feel," murmured Tokiko, not quite answering all of the boy's questions. "Without memories, without hearts, those three are beyond feelings, beyond sadness . . . beyond joy; they crave stories only out of a base instinct to fill the their void inside; with the enchantment over this sanctuary working to dull their perceptions, there is little way for them to know . . . or care. "

Juri turned towards Anthy then. "So these swords – immortal vengeful ghosts that had been tormenting first you, then Utena, for all this time, are just going to disappear off into some void, and never to return?"

"The swords are going into the shadows' darkness," Anthy's voice sounded distant, faraway, "with the trio attuned to my brother, theirs is a darkness that leads to the Ends of the World."

Even apparently pained by the swords, Nanami's lips quirked in a vicious smirk. ". . . I like what I think she's saying."

"So do I," replied Juri, strained expression pensive still. "But when it comes to beating the likes of Ohtori Akio, there's just no way it could've been this easy."

Anthy remained silent through the girls' exchange; Saionji had to agree with Juri's assessment of the situation: if it was this easy, Anthy would have saved Tenjou and defeated her brother years ago. There would definitely be even tougher trials ahead, before Tenjou and everyone gathered could truly break free from the coffins the Ends of the World had locked them into.

"How long is this sword-baiting act gonna take anyway?" asked Nanami, impatient after a moment of silence. "We can't keep this up forever."

"For as long as it needs taking," replied Anthy, facing the large-as-ever swarm of swords with creased brows, "this really is the only answer I can give you at this moment."

Nanami opened her mouth as if wanting to say something more, then decided against it as she quietly continued on enduring the "buffered" pain along with the rest of the grim-faced, wordless group.

Noticing that Wakaba's upheld soul sword was now wavering from her depleting strength, Saionji unthinkingly reached out a hand to support the petite woman's shaky wrists. It was only when the young woman turned toward him wide-eyed and blushing that the brash man realized he might have acted inappropriately.

"Ah, Wakaba-kun . . . pardon me if this seems-"

"O-Oh no . . ." Wakaba quickly turned her face away, her ears red to the lobes, "thank you, Saionji-sempai." Despite the pain she had to be under, there was something bashful about her bearing – something that alarmed Saionji greatly.

"Wakaba-kun,"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry," he said, and the girl's wrists stiffened in his grasp.

"For what?"

"For what happened in Ohtori . . . for knowing that you liked me at the time, and still allowed you to, even knowing I could only hurt you in the end."

"Why hurt me?" she finally asked after a significant moment of silence; her face still was turned away. "Is it because someone special like you will always refuse a nobody like me?"

Saionji inhaled deeply at the young woman's misconception. "I'm no one special, Wakaba-kun; I never was. You see those scums showing up on the news getting arrested for beating up their wives and kids, for harassing their girlfriends even after they split? That's me." The others present were noticeably paying attention to his talking, but he had to speak on. "Touga and I . . . we're not capable of being good boyfriends or husbands, not when-"

"Shut up!" Wakaba whirled her head around to glare at him, showing a wild, uncharacteristic hatred reminiscent of the time when she forcibly dragged out his soul sword after suffering his cruelty. "You're just saying these things to push me away! You're not attracted to me cause you think I'm not good enough for you! You . . ." Her words ceased as he tightened his grip on her narrow, vulnerable wrists.

"Do you know how I treated Anthy back when she was the world to me?" he asked, his expression somber to the point of being ominous. "Were there no rumors at all about the things I did to her – in front of other people, behind closed doors?" Out of a corner of his eye, he saw Anthy lowering her head amidst some of the others' curious glances; in front of him, the hatred had drained off of Wakaba's expression, replaced by numb shock. "Wakaba-kun, you were the free rabbit that risked the hunter's wrath to take his stray hunting dog into your own den; the dog, even while grateful, still ended up biting you in the end, because biting others, even those he thought he loved, was his lowly nature."

"But you're not that kind of person now . . . are you?" asked Wakaba, her voice almost childlike in its current vulnerability.

"I don't know," replied Saionji, his voice a dull murmur. "I haven't really been with any woman – not even for casual flings – since Ohtori."

"What'd you mean 'really been'?"

Knowing that Wakaba still was badly hurt by his past actions till this very day, Saionji decided that he owed her an honest answer even on something this personal. "After leaving Ohtori, there've been times when I screw people so I can get things from them in return." From his angle, he saw Nanami clucking her tongue as if exasperated by his stupidity in revealing this in front of a roomful of (now shocked) people. "I won't call those 'real'." At Wakaba's wide-eyed expression, he smirked in self-depreciation. "See? Karma exists after all."

Wakaba did not laugh, of course; she simply turned away to again face the many swords' hateful onslaught, with the singular tear trailing down her profile the only hint of her inner turmoil. Turning away himself (and calmly noting how a number of his peers were quickly glancing away), he noticed Miki's downcast eyes, and realized that of everyone here taking on the swords, the boy was the only one to have remained truly "alone" – Kozue, still with them up till moments ago, was noticeably absent from her twin's side . . .

It was then that the sound of a delicate, rather familiar piece of piano music started pealing through the Swords of Hate's monotonous droning; startled, everyone turned towards the opposite corner of the now largely damaged dinning room to see Kozue seated at a pink piano (occupying a corner that Saionji was facing from where he sat during the breakfast meet, thus knew to be empty back then), with the ribbon-wearing blue penguin "Number 3" seated beside her on the matching pink bench; together, they played a duet on the instrument, with the girl riffing and scatting along the flowing melody, prior to singing the lyrics:

"Won't you play for me

Our special melody

And let your fingers dance

On piano keys

"All the birds and bees

Are chasing butterflies

They're dancing endlessly

In that endless dream we used to hold"

"Kozue . . ." Miki's expression was one between bafflement and wonder. Saionji saw that the boy's soul sword now had visibly transformed into one that surpassed its former glory in both design and aura, and knew Kozue was supporting her twin even as she sang (a song that he now recognized to be The Sunlit Garden with lyrics).

"The melody you wrote for me

With the wind so cold on our cardboard scene

Won't you stay with me my one and only"

Even as she sang, Saionji realized how his hand was hurting a lot less than before. Glancing around, he saw that he was not alone; the Duelists have all gotten more relaxed, enough that their attentions were no longer solely on the hate-filled swords (their once overwhelming onslaught now seemed faraway somehow), but rather, on Kozue's startlingly mesmerizing vocals (even though her piano playing remained amateurish compared to Miki's).

"Let me sing for you

Our special melody

I'll be there when you need

Another soul to help you stay afloat

"Maybe we can carry the weight of two

Two hapless fools"

Even with the swords rushing the points of their blades, everyone was looking at the Kaoru twins now; at Kozue, who remained seated at the piano with her back to everyone (her heaving shoulders betrayed how it must had strained her to perform while enduring the hate-filled swords' hammering) even after the song was done; at Miki, glaring at her from behind.

"Why . . .?" asked Miki, in shivery, teary outrage. "Why here . . . why _**now**_, when I no longer expect anything from you?" In reply, Kozue slammed both hands down upon the piano's keys in a blast of dour notes (it was only then that Saionji noticed the black rose motif marking the instrument's side).

"This is _not_ about you," hissed the girl, her voice sounding so rasped that Saionji wondered how she ever sang like she just did. "Can you still not understand that I can do things for myself, or just for people _other than you_?" Penguin Number 3 nuzzled itself against her like a vulnerable child, and Kozue, even while enraged, hugged the cushion-like creature to her side.

"Kozue!"

"Your Utena-sempai is back; go help already."

Everyone whirled their heads around to see a visibly ruffled up – but radiantly aglow – Tenjou Utena standing ahead of them all holding his (his and Touga's, actually) soul sword against the still-enormous swarm of hate-filled blades. Relieved from the Million's onslaught, Saioniji immediately felt his own strength returning, along which much of his pain-dulled wits.

"Tenjou . . . you fool!" He tried going up to Utena, but found an invisible, impenetrable barrier of sorts having materialized between them, keeping he and the other Duelists back and away from the action up front. "You're not trying to fight these many swords all on your own, are you?"

"That's my Onii-sama's sword you're using, tomboy!" yelled Nanami, likewise struggling against the barrier. "You're really putting all the strain onto him by ditching our help!"

"Utena!" Anthy knocked against the barrier like it was a physical wall. "This is too much for you alone to handle, let us-" Her voice got cut off by Utena's almost majestic roar, as the latter abruptly brightened to the point that the entire space was now engulfed in burning light – one that had a damaging effects on the Swords of Hate, apparently, as the hateful blades now all were visibly crinkling up like paper under fire. "Utena . . ."

"Everyone!" cried Utena, as he slashed and dashed against the now much weakened Swords of Hate, many of which shattered before they could even bounce off into the shadows, "thanks for helping me come this far; I can take care of the rest now! Anthy . . . now that there's less of these things messing around my mind, I can finally remember now . . . back then, when the swords were coming for us, and I asked for your hand, you gave me so much more. . . you gave me-"

Sounds of metallic hollering – desperate and hate-filled like the sound of a mob under fire – filled the air, as what remained of the swords thickened alarmingly all around Utena and her soul sword – to the point that they were about to cocoon him like they did before; Saionji figured that the weakened monstrosities were now trying to use their sheer numbers to bring down the powered-up Duelist before he could destroy them.

No way in hell he was gonna let that happen – not after the pains everyone already went through trying to save the wench's pink-haired rear end.

"Anthy!" He called out to the dark-featured woman (former obsession, current coffin-breaking instrument). "Can you make Utena drop the barrier thing?" Anthy did not seem to have heard him, so focused was she in trying to manually pry through the barrier with her bare, glowing hands.

"Utena!" Juri, who had since stepped forward, was already slamming her sword against the barrier to resounding effects. Miki, right beside the tall woman, did likewise. "Stop blocking us out! Let us in so we can help you!" Seeing how both their powerful blades did no damage against the barrier made Saionji realized that there really was no way for them to reach the sword-occupied Duelist.

"Utena-sama!" Wakaba cried with tears of agitation streaking her face; behind her, Shiori and Tsuwabuki both looked as worried as they were helpless. "Open up please!"

A rumbling sound, not unlike that of a plane's engine, rose in volume against the sounds of clanging swords and metallic curses, as Utena's power-shout then blasted over all other lesser noises:

" . . . you gave me LIGHT!"

A brilliant aura erupted against the wall of hate swords amidst the sound of a grand explosion, crushing a good number of them while repelling the rest backwards and away. In the middle of the sacred-seeming radiance stood Utena with his sword raised skywards; hair flying, shirt opened, muscled chest alit with splendor, the self-proclaimed "stupid girl who thought she could become a prince" now looked the quintessence of princehood.

"Eternity, Shining Things, the Power of Miracles, the Power to Revolutionize the World, the Light of the World that used to slumber within you, that everyone fought for, up till we finally met at the ends of our world . . . is now _MINE_!" Thus proclaimed the triumphant being of light, who now was agilely going after all the hate-filled swords darting all around, smashing their brittle lengths with savage grace in front of the stunned group. "I have it NOW!"

" . . . awesome!" Tsuwabuki exclaimed in boyish admiration. "Sempai is a _machine_!"

"So _this_ is the Light of the World we were shown on our way here . . . " Shiori pondered out loud from where she was perched flushed-faced behind Juri, who manoeuvred her soul sword forward experimentally.

"The barrier is down."

"Utena-sempai is probably too into chasing after the swords to keep it up still," commented Miki, sounding not exactly relieved.

"Then powerful as Utena has become, he still do leave openings," Juri's exquisite face now was shadowy with grimness. "I don't like this at all."

"Well, long as the tomboy can keep _this_ up," gestured a heaving Nanami at Utena's dramatic sword-smashing act, "then the parasite swords should all be exterminated fairly soon . . . " eyes widening as if abruptly realizing something, she whirled towards Anthy. "He _can_ keep this up, right?"

"I do not know." Eyes wide with genuine, almost childlike awe as she watched the glorious entity that Utena had now become, Anthy looked even younger than what Saionji remembered her to be like at Ohtori. "The Light of the World had slumbered within me for as long as history, but as the sword-pinned Rose Bride, I could access only but small scraps of its power – and that was already more than enough to keep up the projections you all saw at Ohtori. What Utena is showing us here . . . this is far beyond even what I've seen from the Rose Prince back when he was in full flower! I know neither the vastness nor scope of the Light's full might; I don't know . . ."

" . . . why didn't I realize it before?" Utena spoke on even as he went about chasing the Swords of Hate as an agile dolphin after a frantic fish shoal. "Getting sent to the hospital with my I.D.s and my parents' savings right after I got skewered, having the fees all miraculously paid for on their records when they discharged me, easily going from one job to another even though I don't even got a high school diploma, getting infected and sick from treatments at those cheap clinics but always recovering enough to go on . . ."

It was at hearing those words that Saionji abruptly realized how he was no longer repulsed by the masculine traits the ex-female now displayed; nobody was anymore – not even Miki and Tsuwabuki, who threw up at seeing the trans man only earlier this morning – as gender distinctions had no meaning for someone so absolutely, brilliantly, glorious: their undisputed, princely, _Victor_.

Whoring ways notwithstanding, Touga did turn out to have excellent taste after all.

". . . never attracting attention moving from one place to the next despite looking and acting weird . . . Anthy, how could I've pulled off any of that, if not for _your Light_ protecting me all along?"

"Utena . . ." Anthy seemed to be at a loss for words; everyone else was too, seeing how the Victor had performed the impossible-seeming feat of cornering all the hate-filled swords into one cluttered, shivering mass, which he now was pushing towards the void of the Shadow Girls (blissfully unaware of the dramatic battle wrecking havoc in the now largely ruined dinning room, they now shared donuts and tea with the Shadow Boys, served by the high-intelligence penguins moving freely in and out of the wall) with his duo-strength soul sword, powered by the Light.

"Anthy," Utena strained to get the words out (the beaten swords, while much weakened, still possessed the mighty strength of numbers), "I finally understand now . . . life _is_ a fairytale, with dragons and ogres all waiting to come battle us at every turn of the page; the symbols and metaphors we've come across so far are all representations of what's really out here in the world." Even while engaged in a supernatural battle against vengeful deceased, his rasped voice now was soft and gentle. "So it's alright now, you can be a witch when the needy needs magic, I can be a princess when the weary needs tenderness, and we can both go from being one thing to the next – princes who help the poor, knights who slay the evil – and there's no need to get pigeonholed by just one role or another - we can be anything that we want to be at any moment, so long as this allows us to help each other to go on _living_!" The swords, now being pushed to close proximity of the oblivious Shadow Girls, started getting sucked into their dark void in large droves; Tsuwabuki and Wakaba, teary-faced both, let out joyous cheers while hugging each other like excited fans at a major game (Saionji noted how the two had completely forgotten the fact that they were adults of opposite genders pressing against each other chest to chest).

"Almost there now . . . " Chida-san, having cautiously stepped up with soul sword in hand, looked poised to help should things went wrong at the last possible minute. "You can do this, Tenjou-san!" Seeing how a determined-looking Juri had since followed the older woman's lead, Saionji quickly stepped up himself, while gesturing for Miki and Nanami to follow suit.

"Everyone . . ." Utena trailed off briefly as he took a deep breath, before looking directly at Saionji as he continued pushing their enemies into the shadow's dark void, "Saionji-sempai, especially, this is the day . . . I get out of the coffin called _**Role**_!"

Meeting the piercing eyes of the one who once who went from being the fellow victim from his childhood, the rival from his teens, to the awesome godling that he now became, Saionji's found his own heart overflowing with passion as he watched Utena push the remaining swords away into the darkness. At long last, the girl trapped in her coffin now had struggled out of its deathly confines (albeit ending up a girl no more); with the revolutionary precedence set, maybe, just maybe everyone here would have a chance of getting out of their coffins too –even a wretched deadbeat like himself, even a complete mess like what Touga had become since; maybe they could all-

"Is it really going to be that easy?"

The sardonic, hyper-masculine drawl – one that Saionji recognized even after all these years – startled Utena into almost dropping his soul sword, against which there were no longer anything for him to push nor battle against. The Shadow Girls –having since absorbed all the Swords of Hate – now were motionless like artfully shaped holes upon the dinning room wall (with the Shadow Boys looking upon them with much uncertainty); within the still confines of their dark "void", one could vaguely made out what appeared to be a very wide interior space cradling a modest-sized office desk like a too-large shell around a too-tiny yolk; behind the desk sat a familiar-looking man, facing the entire lot of them with his back straight, his dark hands clasped, and his sensuously curved lips curled in condescending mirth.

"Brother," Anthy hissed the word from underneath her breath, like it was the most malicious of curses; Saionji, for his part, swore out loud.

Even after the battle against the hateful million, after the triumphant return of their born again Victor and Prince, everyone still found themselves facing their ultimate Adversary – who, on top of looking agelessly handsome, appeared disturbingly unscathed_even after all the swords they had sent his way_.

Juri was (unfortunately) right: when it came to beating the likes of Ohtori Akio, there was just no way it could have been this easy.

**End Part Six**


	7. Prince, Interrupted Finale

**Seinen Kakumei Utena**

Utena and its characters belong to its various owners.

**WARNING:** Parts of this work contain **depictions of** **transphobia**, **controversial** shoujo fantasy** trans situation **that** in no way reflects real life trans people**, and **misogynic** magic attack leading to** forced masculinization**

**Part Seven: Prince, Interrupted - Finale**

Flanked by his friends and loved ones he stood, gawking stupidly at the nightmare behind the shadows on the wall, appalled.

"Even if the coffin could be cleared of its maggots, that doesn't mean its lock would accordingly open," from beyond the space warping "windows" left behind by the inanimate Shadow Girls, Ohtori Akio sat languidly behind his office desk as he eyed Anthy with a pity akin to indulgence. "You should've known this better than these mayflies, Sister."

"Mayflies . . ." bright aura dimming amidst rapidly darkening thoughts (how faraway did that previous moment of personal triumph seem, now that he again wallowed in hatred), Tenjou Utena had to consciously control his breath just to continue _looking_ at the one who robbed away his (her) innocence and youth; the monster who, even now, was again mocking him –mocking them all – from afar. "You . . . !"

"Brother," Anthy, for her part, eyed her brother like one would an overturned bug that still refused to die. "I see you're looking even smaller now than when I left you."

Akio's smirk turned sharp-edged; nonetheless, the Shadow-Girls-shaped holes started moving anew – this time merging together into one single, wide oval "space gape" that gave a better view of the Planetarium-office and the man. "Perspective is certainly an interesting thing, little sister; it can make the mighty look weak in the eyes of a beholder; or, in Utena-kun's case, the wicked looking meek."

"I never once saw the conniving likes of you as being meek," snapped Utena, roughly twisting the verbal jab directed at Anthy back where it came from. "Don't talk like you know how I think!"

"I know everything there is to know about you, Utena-kun, I'm the prince from your girlhood." He stressed the word "girlhood" in that knowing, cutting way the enraged Victor remembered well from their duel. "I'm willing to be your prince now, if you'd just let me-"

"You're NOT a prince!" snapped Utena, hating himself for having once allowed himself (herself) to idolize and love someone so obviously despicable. "Don't tarnish the word by pretending that you're anything similar to it! You . . . y-you . . ." Too many words, too many _curses_ came to his frantic mind all at once: pedophile (but that would again conjuncture up unpleasant memories of his (her) cruelly stolen virginity), pervert (but that would tangle Anthy into the unpleasant equation), cheater (but that would connect him (her) to the sin committed) . . . in the end, only the lamest accusation managed to come out of his feeble mouth. ". . . sister user!"

"Poor Utena-kun," Akio's chiseled face softened with what appeared to be genuine pity. "even after stealing away both the Light of the World and the Rose Bride, you still remain in denial as to what a prince really is."

Stealing . . .? Utena almost barked out a reflexive (thus unpolished) retort, but Nanami spoke before he could.

"Whatever a prince is, he not a grown man who go around screwing under-aged boys and girls, _including his own sister_." Utena would've openly approved of the feisty blonde's jab, had it not also affected Anthy as well; Anthy who now was still as ancient statue. Akio, for his part, displayed a twinkle within his deep-set green eyes.

"Such foul things coming out of your mouth, Nanami-kun; you might require oral cleaning . . . maybe some grass chewing again courtesy of my sister's witchcraft will do the trick?" Eye-wide, Nanami and Tsuwabuki turned sharply towards Anthy, whose stony gaze remained fixed upon her brother.

"Utena-kun," Akio returned his attention towards the seething Victor, and spoke on in educating, condescending tones, "light cannot shine without darkness; a prince cannot shine without his witches. You disapprove of me allowing my sister, the witch, to do the evil that I, by my nature as a prince, cannot do myself; yet now I see you having my sister lure all your friends into the lion's den fighting your fight for you . . . how is that "better" than what I did with the Rose Bride in my time?"

"Brother," Anthy's voice was as a faint wheeze of a slashing whip, "you ordered me around as your slave to suffer and sin on your behalf; Utena does her best to keep me _and her friends_ from harm. You're as different from her as muck is to clouds." Akio eyed his sister with something akin to empathy.

"And through it all, you've remained the same like always."

Utena could only watch on in horrified outrage as the man's words impacted Anthy like a knife to the heart – one that turned even her rich dark complexion pallid, as blood visibly drained off of it; her eyes, once so piercing, now were wide and glassy.

"Utena-kun," their enemy pressed on with his hurtful, damnable words, "it may be that you can be a girl and a boy and all things in between, but my sister has a far more limited range than you do, I'm afraid; she can only ever play the witch." Like a malfunctioning puppet, Anthy's head now dropped to hang limply while her entire stance slackened; Utena gritted his teeth in ever boiling rage.

"Enough already! You're a scumbag who've used Anthy like you've used me and everyone else! She's-"

"What makes the witch, a witch," Akio cut her off effortlessly, "is that she cares only for her prince and nothing about other people – not even herself." His smooth voice began to grow heavy with what sounded like real pain. "Knowing that we're linked by blood – that I feel her wounds, her suffering, with my own body – she still strives to destroy me for your sake, knowing that-"

"You shut up!" Utena raised her soul sword even while knowing how useless a gesture it is, that with her intended target so far away. "You've made us hurt each other, a-and now, you've reached beyond Ohtori's boundaries trying to hurt the people outside too! There's no way in hell I'm gonna let you do this to _our_ world! We're gonna stop you, and . . . " He found himself trailing off feebly at Akio's deep sigh.

"Me and my sister's influences have gone beyond Ohtori into your world since _years_ ago, Utena-kun. How else could we have met that first time?"

Utena felt the wind knocked out of his chest by his tormentor's hideous question; God, for him to bring this up now . . . ". . . I was a kid who just lost my parents, and you _took advantage of my despair_, you-"

"Yes, my sister and I both played our parts to entertain your young, impressionistic mind," Akio flicked a stray lock of white hair out of his eye in a rather flippant gesture, "but how did you think you lost your parents in the first place, Utena-kun?"

"M-My-" so angry was he now, that Utena found himself stuttering, "my parents passed away from the Kiga Subway Attack and you will _not_ talk about them! YOU-" It was then that realization hit him like a ton of bricks (and hitting others too, judging by their now stunned looks; even the Shadow Boys that Chida-san took in appeared to be standing in poses of shock). "No . . . it can't be, no way you could have . . ." He was shaking so badly under Akio's steady gaze by now that his knees were wobbling. "It was Tokyo, nowhere near Ohtori at all; there were real bombs used and _real life terrorists_ arrested for the crimes committed! There's no way the likes of you-"

"Terrorists are people, and people can be bought and swayed. " explained Akio with cruel patience, as Utena helplessly crumbled to his knees from the debilitating trauma – to think that _this_ was the truth behind the meeting that he (she) had treasured in his (her) heart for years and on; to think that he (she) had let the event _shape_ him (her) unto adolescence; to think that the prince from his (her) childhood was in reality his (her) parents' murderer; to think that the murderer's _sister_ . . . "You've gotten so close and friendly to my talented sister in recent years, surely you must have seen how good she's at buying and swaying people?"

"You . . ."

"Uh-uh, don't just direct your hatred at me, save some of it for my sister too – she was the one to have corresponded with the Kiga Terrorists on behalf of the Ohtori Clan, which funded the group-"

"**LIAR!**" Slamming a fist to the floor, Utena used the rush of pain to push himself back up to his feet again. "What good will it do you to kill a train full of people with gas bombs? Huh? It doesn't _fit_ with what you've been doing at Ohtori, with the duels and the castle and-" He choked on his words at seeing the black rose that Akio had produced with a magician's deft grace. From behind him, he heard a faint moaning sound that he recognized to be Anthy's.

"Ancient creatures died and left naught but fossil fuels, without which the present energy civilization cannot exist." Eyes on Utena (who could not help but breath through his inelegantly gaping mouth least he thought he would suffocate), the man twirled the rose's thorny stem between long, agile fingers, prior to stabbing it sleekly into the empty vase atop his desk. "This world demands that every accomplishment be paid for by even greater sacrifice, and that every pleasure taken be followed by even greater suffering. Once, the witch understood that to live is to be punished, that the only thing keeping her life bearable was knowledge that her true prince was _sharing_ her punishments with her; once, the witch would do anything to ease her prince's suffering: be it destroying innocents, or baiting the guilty." Out of a corner of his eye, he saw Anthy's stance sagging a notch further, such that she now resembled a withered straw doll. "Had it not been for your parents' death, would you have grasped at the ring I offered, and have it shackle you unto the Revolution? Had it not been for my sister's material promises, would you so-called friends – who all forgot about you within a month's time – be here today?" Utena thought he glimpsed guilty expressions from all around those gathered; he could not be sure, so overwhelmed was he by the crushing revelation now getting crammed down his throat. "Did my sister ever tell you about her intimate involvement with the terrorist leader and the group's senior members? How about the way she planned out the routes to be affected during the subway attack, one of which your parents happened to be traveling upon at the time? Did she get to see their final moments, I wonder? I recall how she was personally going from train to train supervising the ongoings during the operation; surely, she must-"

A thin line of red light flashed by the side of Utena's face, spearing through the space gape on the wall and towards Akio, hitting him right squarely upon the red dot on his forehead. Stumbling to the side upon numb joints, Utena saw how Chida-san was aiming what appeared to be a spy-movie laser weapon at their enemy, with the unnumbered black penguin (Esmeralda; Anthy called it Esmeralda) quickly setting up a blindingly bright light screen from behind her. From the side, surrounded by their blue penguins – plus Kozue, who was somehow standing with them and not the Duelists – the Shadow Boys gawked open-mouthed at what they saw.

"Ah!" Exclaimed the brown-haired one (K-taro, if Utena remembered correctly). "That looks like . . . like . . ." The sentence was then left trailing off in uncertainty.

"What'd you guys remember?" asked Kozue, leaning down anxiously towards the kids; the boys gave no reply.

From beyond the hole in the wall, Akio narrowed his eyes at his current opponent. "Tokiko-kun."

"Ohtori Akio-san," donning a pair of shades she just got handed by Esmeralda, Chida-san kept a steady aim upon her target, "while it's indeed entertaining to listen to you give a skewered version of the Fate Train Project to hammer the Victor's conviction, there are matters between us that needs settling. Shall we pick up where we left off ten years ago?"

Despite the light glaring from behind the woman, Akio kept his piercing gaze upon her. "Ten years ago . . . you mean the time right before Nemuro-kun's graduation, when you tried attacking me at my office under the guise of a visit?" Behind him, the shutters clamped down as teeth of a vast beast, casting the man under ominous darkness. "Is this that same laser gun you threatened me with back then? Wait, that was a sling shot with ball projectiles. Ah, I remember now . . . you looked so cute wielding the toy while wearing your middle-age disguise – that's how you fool the regular people into thinking you're aging along with them, right? I must say you look much lovelier as your true, witch self – is this the face your kind, generous husband comes home to? Or has Nemuro-kun since taken his place?" Chida-san took a step forward; Akio's back now was straight to the point of rigidity. "So I suppose this is some newer, deadlier item than its predecessor? What does this one do, Tokiko-kun? Affecting memories? Affecting the soul? I must say you're one inventive witch for constantly coming up with such gadgets."

"I wonder who was the one who so enjoy making witches of women?" asked the coolly enigmatic woman. "And you know I'll do anything to come up with the means to threaten the likes of you, Akio-san."

"Indeed . . ." drawled Akio, obviously just buying time, prior to speaking on. "just like how you stole the Fate Diary from Tsukiichi-kun back during the Black Rose Research, thus almost derailing the entire Fate Train Research." Even with the shades obscuring her eyes, Utena could tell by Chida-san's parted lips that the man's words had hit a nerve.

"Fate . . . Diary?" the blue-haired S-taro murmured in a voice like one hypnotized; Utena thought she could now vaguely make out facial features on his darkness cloaked face. Kozue was squatting down now, urgently asking the boy something, with the latter slowly shaking his head as if in a daze.

"Were you actually thinking of using that as leverage against me after you've signed my contract, to make sure I uphold my end of the bargain?" asked Akio of the now stiff-postured Chida-san. "Such a distrustful woman . . . did you think you could harness the Diary being the novice witch you were? Did you think it could help you save Mamiya-kun? How'd it feel when your own niece eventually stolen the Diary from you thinking it's child's toy, and ended up getting split into two halves as a result-" A slew of daggers threw past Akio's face, one of which drawing a shallow cut on his chiseled cheek; it took Utena a moment to realize that the black penguin Esmeralda - now looking startlingly vicious – was the one to have thrown the projectiles through the space gape, and had actually managed to hurt the Ends of the World.

"Now . . . Tokiko-kun," producing a napkin, Akio dabbed delicately at his cut cheek, "if this is still about Mamiya-kun's whereabouts, my sister should've already told you that _she_ was the one in possession of him up to right before his disappearance."

"If the Rose Bride was to tilt her head a certain way, it was because you commanded her to do so," stated Chida-san with a finality that allowed no argument. "My brother's spirit disappeared within your garden after you've used up his usefulness; do you think I will not come after you, especially now that you're no longer protected by your little sister?" At the jab, Akio's smile broadened to reveal rows of even, pearly whites.

"Tokiko-kun, sister or no sister . . . a prince shall always have his bride."

Then came a flash of movement in front of Akio's desk too quick for Utena's eyes to follow – red fabrics, platinum green hair, pale skin, metallic glitter – prior to a slew of swords flying point first their way. Even as Tokiko fired her shot, the Shadow Boys already were at the wall "pushing" the space gape shut around the cluttering of sharp sword points, but not before Utena caught a glimpse of the expressionless, mannequin-like woman falling backwards and into Akio's arms.

"Kanae . . . san?"

A sharp gasp prompted Utena to turn his head around, where Tokiko – whose shades had since fallen off – was wide-eyed from where she was shielded behind an again human Mikage, who got impaled by two swords stabbing into his heart and head, respectively; Esmeralda and the other penguins were standing around watching them worriedly.

"Utena-kun," Akio's caustic voice came through the sword-cluttered gape, "even though I pity your endless denial, I must applaud you for having harnessed such powerful brides to defend your reign as the upstart prince. These remaining Swords of Hate, baptized by the blood of my current bride, had since passed the passage and _will_ come through to your side . . . if your brides for whatever reason cannot take them on your behalf, perhaps your groom could do the honors? He really is very good at enduring impalement for those he love; yes, mine _is_ the voice of experience." Pause, followed by a more somber tone of voice. "Sister, are you to share in another's punishments on top of mine?"

And the cluttered swords shot seamlessly out from the wall like a hail of arrows.

* * *

As a man coming from a kendo background (one who had lived though dangerous times in the past decade thanks to the Kiryuus) Saionji Kyouichi always prided himself on having quick reflexes.

Thus, the moment he saw Utena's sword hand remaining limp even as the hate swords were extricating themselves further out the wall, the man was already charging full speed forward to block what he knew would be a quick and ferocious onslaught.

"Utena-sempai!" A flash of blue and pink was all Saionji saw as Miki dived by knocking the now seemingly dazed Utena off to the side and away from the swords now rushing them.

Lunging airborne via his momentum, Saionji executed a kendo blade swish that ended up smashing most of the oncoming swords, yet still was unable to stop one from heading straight for his unprotected flank; a flash, a clang, and even that stray sword got knocked off course by Juri's (when had she gotten there?) agilely maneuvered blade; the hate sword, still intact, shot straight at a stunned Tsuwabuki, who got pushed to the side by Nanami – who, in doing so, left herself open to the oncoming sword point . . .

"Nanami!" Saionji dashed forward after the hate sword, wincing as he knew he could not stop it in time-

A splash of liquid metal knocked the hate sword into the wall, violently breaking its blade; moving along the wall in mecury-like ball droplets, the liquid metal condensed slug-like back into one boiling mass, prior to rapidly "flowing" out of the room's high arc doorway and away. Regaining his footing and gathering his wits, Saionji turned back towards Utena (still seemingly not quite back on earth yet), and saw him holding but the hilt-half of his broken soul sword . . .

Tsuwabuki, who've gotten back up and was beside the wide-eyed blonde, likely came to the same conclusion as he did. "T-That was . . ."

"Onii-sama . . ." Nanami breathed out the word, prior to exclaiming it out loud. "Onii-sama!" She then sprinted out of the largely ruined room and (presumably) after Touga's highly malleable soul sword, bumping against an old-fashioned tv set in her hasty exit (which somehow got turned on from the impact, and was tuned to what seemed like some heavily 3D-graphics-infused music video).

"Nemuro-kun! Hang in there!" Chida-san was now moving a human-again Mikage (who looked older than the last Saionji saw him, and appeared around the age he was in the framed black and white pic that still hung upon the wall undamaged) up onto a stretcher with help of the penguins (they might well be the ones to have produced it); Kozue and the Shadow Boys (the corners of their features now vaguely "illuminated") quickly got over to help, and the whole group of them were off and away from the room going who knew where within the mansion's enchantment-laced confines. The rest of the Duelists now were left with their Victor and his Bride: the former having slumped brokenly onto his knees upon the debris-covered floor, the latter watching him from behind with wary eyes.

"Utena, you're the one with the power now." She took a light step up towards Utena, who visibly _flinched_ at her sound. "Don't mind what he said; pull yourself together, please?" Tremblingly, Utena got back onto his feet, and spoke without turning around.

"He lied." It was clear to all what he was referring to. "Himemiya, tell me he lied." At again being on family-name basis with Utena (how the Rose Bride had conditioned him to be sensitive to such things, thought Saionji numbly), Anthy's expression was one of tightly controlled anguish and agony.

"Utena-sa . . . Utena, I was the Rose Bride for a very long time, I've done many things that-" The sight and sound of Utena's fist slamming against the wall cut her right off, as her new prince in despair then briskly stormed off and away from the room, refusing to hear anything more. Green eyes clouding over with thicker despair than Saionji could ever remembered seeing in them, Anthy raised a glowing hand in a brief, subtle gesture, and made her listless exit from the dinning room that now had magically reverted back to its former, damage-free state. Saionji glanced down upon his now empty hand, looked around, and realized that everyone's soul swords had since disappeared.

Standing dazed in this again immaculate room (pristine and tidy as if the battle just moments ago – or even sword-plagued Utena's rampage - never did happen), it took a while longer before most in the group could regain their full wits; and by that time, the questions they had flowed like water from a broken valve.

" . . . why would Akio-san make the Ohtori Clan fund a terrorist group?" pondered Miki from where they now gathered at a corner. "What had the Kiga Subway Attack got to do with regaining the Power of Revolution, which had been his objective all along?" His blue eyes narrowed in distrust. "And those penguins hanging around Chida-san and Kozue . . . could those have a connection to the Kiga Group, which might have magic users as they're all Akio-san's pawns?"

"The Chairman had driven us all towards the ends of our worlds," Juri tapped her restless fingertips against the wall, "and Himemiya said he had made people into fuel with Nemuro Hall as this human broiler . . . was that the truth behind the rumor of the building getting burned down with students inside? The subway attack was likely for the same thing too." Her voice lowered a notch. "The fact that Utena's parents got killed in the attack was probably pure random, but it somehow led him to Utena; that poseur must've looked mighty princely to the eyes of an orphaned child, who at the time would be desperately for-"

"Something eternal to build hopes upon," murmured Saionji, whose mind now was clouding over with the old memories that had been pricking at his heart for a lifetime. "It was the night before the funeral." Juri turned towards him questioningly, but he felt like getting out the story first, prior to doing further explaining. "Inside the darkened church, there was an extra coffin beside those holding the newly dead couple; the lone surviving victim – the young daughter the couple left behind – was hiding in it, from where she cursed life for not being eternal, and vowed of never coming out into the sun again . . ."

"Saionji-sempai," Miki cut in at this point, "you talk like you were there-"

Clang!

They all turned towards Tsuwabuki, who almost ended up tipping the old TV off the table it was on.

"Oh, I'm just trying to turn this thing off," explained the boy, blushing slightly. "I don't want this Saionji-sempai wannabe singing pop in the background while we've got important things to discuss."

The TV, turned on since Nanami's bumping into it, now showed a music video featuring a model-chic male idol undulating to the music while singing some syrupy love song. Saionji glanced briefly over . . . and found his sight fixed upon the one onscreen.

"Oh, that's Seen," exclaimed Wakaba as she got up to the small TV for a better look, "voted the Most Princely Idol of the year by our magazine's polls." Despite everything that just happened, the girl still could not help chuckling in light amusement. "I guess he does resemble Saionji-sempai a little, with the hair and all, though he's even more slender and pretty-" The words ceased abruptly (she probably recalled what had transpired while they faced the Swords of Hate) as she then made a show of trying to help Tsuwabuki turn off the device. "Where's the remote anyway?"

"I think this needs to get manually turned off," Miki got over to inspect the old model electronic device, and ended up paying attention to the idol on screen. "Wow . . . that's a lot of work done there." Tsuwabuki made a face.

"No kidding . . . that nose's so thin he can cut paper with it."

"Not just the nose . . . look; there's this jaw-shaving going on here . . . and his cheeks don't really move even when he sings . . ."

"Oh, oh! And that has to be collagen puffing up his upper lip!"

" . . . don't you guys recognize him?" asked Saionji, who had since moved up towards them with Juri. "That's Kazami Tatsuya, he used to hang around Tenjou and-"

"**_WHAT_?**" Wakaba literally jumped in surprise. "No way! Tatsuya's-"

"Wakaba-kun, I've worked alongside a journalist from the entertainment section doing a background-dig article on the guy, believe me when I say that he _is_ Kazami Tatsuya." Guessing what the open-mouthed Wakaba was about to ask, Saionji gave his reply one step ahead. "The article somehow got banned by the higher ups, and never saw the light of day; the journalist also got fired from the magazine soon afterwards. I suppose the Kazami-san's backer must be some kind of powerful."

"Tatsuya is _Seen_?" Wakaba watched the one onscreen – now shown idly sticking fork after fork into a blood red apple – in disbelief. "But Seen looks _nothing_ like Tatsuya! Tatsuya was stoop-shouldered-"

"Well . . . stretching procedures can do wonders for the shape," supplied Miki, who then pointed at his bared shoulder, "and look - deltoid implants."

"Tatsuya had this tubular torso where his three sizes are like the same! Seen is famous for his model-like wasp waist-"

"Rib removal – see how high-waisted he is compared to the regular guy?"

"And he was no where this leggy, no matter what kind of growth spurt he'd had afterwards-"

"The risky leg-stretching surgery can do wonders - note how his lower-legs are even longer than his uppers?"

"That rich, wavy mane from such a flat-haired onion guy . . ."

"Volumizing extensions."

" . . . catch me, I faint . . ." breathed Wakaba, as she collapsed backward and right into a waiting Shiori, who gently helped her get seated down.

"I think we really need to focus on what we should do from now on," she said, understated eyebrows creased in unease. "Whatever power Utena-san just showed us . . . he seems to be losing it again. And there's the issue with Himemiya-san at least partially responsible for his parents' death . . . will this rift between them just break our entire operation apart?" Hands clasped in front, her slim fingers now were crossed nervously against each other. "What's going to happen to us, now that he knows we're up against him?"

"Well, there 's no turning back now," said Saionji. "We've already thrown our first collective punch. If we disband, the monster would be coming for us individually. Remember how he's been screwing up our lives all along? That's only going to get worse unless we stick together to defeat him for good. It's possible that Tenjou and Anthy may never again be close after the bomb that bastard dropped, but with Ohtori Akio as their common enemy, and ours, I'm our operation will continue."

Shiori nodded, slight frame vulnerable with uncertainty; Juri came up from behind her, encasing the smaller woman in a familiar hug.

"We all want to believe that every wrong in the past is forgivable," ruminated the woman, not seeing the strained expression of the one in her arms, ". . . but is it really possible to forgive a past wrong when its effects are irreversible and will last forever?"

Nobody could reply to that, as gloom thickened over the room like falling snow.

"About Tatsuya . . ." a dazed-seeming Wakaba's airy voice put an end to the wordless moment. "Himemiya said something like he's now under her brother's control . . . but why would the Chairman have him be an idol?"

On TV, the music video ended, and the now unrecognizably handsome Kazami Tatsuya was shown to be at some kind of press conference, with countless mic heads pointing his way (Saionji thought their (unintentional?) placement to resemble an array of incoming swords), smilingly answering one inane question after the next. The view then started panning out . . . which then got everyone in the room exclaiming in shock.

"What in the world . . . ?" Tsuwabuki gawked at the screen, at the many reporters and conference crew surrounding Tatsuya, whom all looked like stylistic _toilet gender symbols_ milling about in this "crowded" scene.

"Juri," Shiori's voice came out shaky, "do you think those are . . .?"

"Stage props," Juri nodded grimly as she tightened her arms protectively around the other woman. "This must be how our colleagues at the agency really look like too; I'd bet anything that either the Chairman or Himemiya can control them like they're nothing."

"But . . . no way!" Wakaba was now pointing her trembling finger all over the TV screen. "Look at the many fans gathered, and the people passing by out on the streets! And there! And there! All the people except for Tatsuya are just gender symbols!"

"It's the Light of the World," stated Saionji, as he knew what he said to be the truth. "It opened our eyes to the truth of the world that we couldn't see before." Like the stagnated agelessness that is eternity, the horrifying might of mass hatred, the glory of princely nobility . . .

"So what does that mean?" Miki was now crawling at his blue hair in growing hysteria. "That everyone in Japan, maybe even the world, are really just gender symbols? That Akio-san has control over us all?"

"Not us," Juri spoke with much certainty, "since we all still see each other as people; but ours is likely a microscopic minority in this current world largely controlled by-" A gut-wrenching scream coming from upstairs cut her right off. Alarmed, everyone raced up the spiral staircase, and to the white-painted, red-rose-lined washroom door (one with a big "OUT OF SERVICE" sign pasted on it) now parted slightly, from beyond which came the sounds of running water, and wrenching, heaving sobs that Saionji immediately recognized.

"Nanami!" His hand was already on the doorknob. "What's-"

"Don't open it!" screeched the hysterical girl. "Don't let the others come in! Keep them away! Kyouichi, don't let them see . . ."

Looking behind him, Saionji saw that Juri was already ushering the rest of the worried group backwards and away. Giving the woman a grateful look, Saionji slowly opened the door a bit wider.

"It's only me," he assured the girl, sliding in already. "I'm coming in-" And his words ceased the moment he saw what was inside.

Beyond the deceptively elegant door was a crude public men's room – one with an elongated urinal trough on one side, and a series of partitions on the other – that looked like it belonged more to an unkempt park than to a Victorian mansion; what left Saionji stunned (to the point that the washroom door now slipped from his numb fingers, left unclosed), however, was the fact that he _recognized_ this place.

"The cabbage field . . . toilet?"

Indeed it was _that_ cabbage field, slyly revealed through the small, half-opened window below the running exhaust fan. Fresh greenery basking under the bright skies, with the white swarms adrift betraying its severe butterfly infestation, the field looked exactly the way it did on that fateful day from his childhood – the day that ended up changing the entire course of his life thereafter (for better or worse); this really was that same toilet block built close to the field for people around the area, despite its run down interior now being impossibly connected to a luxurious mansion's _second floor_ . . .

". . . Onii-sama . . ."

Nanami's choked voice was coming from the partition at the very end, right next to the window. Moving upon legs that he could no longer feel, Saionji then put a numb hand on the partition's door, and pulled.

The inside of the partition was covered in the exact same graffiti-scribbles as he remembered from around that time: the cartoon-ish sexual drawings, the phone numbers left by sexual solicitors, the torrid descriptions of obscene acts . . . everything was identical to what he remembered seeing as a boy having to use the filthy facility. Hands covering her mouth from where she huddled-up against a cramped corner, Nanami was glancing tearily down upon the large porcelain squat toilet . . . or rather, what appeared to be her brother impossibly superimposed upon the toilet.

Unlike Saionji, who gained bulk throughout the past decade thanks to his physically demanding job as a freelance photographer/cameraman, Kiryuu Touga had lost much of his – to the point that the now willowy, even longer-haired man appeared downright androgynous; naked torso having molded into the porcelain, but with his lower-arms and legs sticking out from the mirror-smooth water, he looked like an exquisite component of an otherwise grotesque art piece. Yet, even with his small, chiseled face completely submerged, the redhead remained clearly undying, as he stared up at them with a hazy, harrowing look in his violet eyes; it was a look that the other man well-remembered from when they first met years ago, as little victims chancing upon each other under unfortunate circumstances.

Time stood rigid still, freezing them all as amber over insects. The water flowed on, spiraling downwards into depths unseen.

* * *

"It's been a long time since we're together like this."

They were inside a greenhouse basked under the pallid lights of winter, with flowers of every imaginable color blooming vibrantly within. Seated at the garden table and chair set situated amidst the flowery interior were two petite, elegantly garbed adolescents obviously coming from money: a brown-haired, freckle-faced boy looking to be on the verge of hitting his growth spurt, currently pouring tea for a blue-haired, doll-faced girl looking delicate as a fresh vine sprout.

"It's been a very long time indeed," the girl held both cup and saucer up as she sipped her tea like a seasoned lady; downcast eyes, lowered in fans of lush lashes, betrayed her displeasure. "Any longer, and even the snow outside the greenhouse would melt."

Shrugging, the boy then took his own tea with gentlemanly grace. "The snow never melts around these parts anyway." A long, pointed silence ensued, during which the boy eyed the girl steadily over the cup, before lowering it, and speaking on. "Well . . . do you have something to discuss with me today? Is it something that cannot be discussed over the phone?"

"You," the girl put down her tea as she looked the boy in the eye with the intensity of a much older woman – one likely used to being in a position of power. "Why have you stopped gracing my dreams lately?" The boy gave her a benignly serene smile – one that apparently fueled her growing spark. "Your staying here is based on your having a place in my heart; and don't forget that a woman's heart can change at a whim."

Smile deepening, the boy got up and moved towards the girl with the sinuous grace of a much older man – one likely used to intimate liaisons with women. "I'm being good to you, so much that I'm growing a new blue rose that's exactly the shade of your hair." Leaning over her chair, he waved a pocket-sized copy of "The Little Prince" in front of her dew-clear eyes, and spoke such that his breath brushed against her fair cheek. "And look, your favorite book; I prepared this knowing we'd get to spend time together-"

Ring!

Frowning, the girl produced her cell phone (one marked by a pink rose motif); seeing the caller id to be "Kanae", she pressed a button that turned the device right off, prior to taking the book from the boy to better study its artfully illustrated cover.

The boy watched all this wearing his faint, unreadable smile. "Say . . . how're you getting along with the Acting Chairman these days?"

At that, the girl turned her face away, somewhat defensively. "Who cares about that man."

"Never mind him then," eyes soft with empathy, the boy leaned even closer toward the girl, practically purring in her shell-like ear. "Ohtori-chan, do you know? If you love a flower that lives on a star, it is sweet to look at the sky at night. All the stars are a-bloom with flowers-"

With an abrupt, startling violence, the girl called Ohtori-chan pulled the boy to herself; the garden chair they were on tipped over, sending the two sprawling onto a bed of poppies. Still clumsily entangled, the youngsters started shedding their previous polished manners along with their well-ironed clothes, leaving crushed red petals sticking all over their flushed skin and tousled hair.

". . . you, Chida-kun; you're my one and only prince . . . !"

**End Part Seven**

**Notes:**

This is by far the most difficult chapter to write as of yet, that with the multiple plotlines hinted at throughout the previous chapters (Utena's Meeting Her Prince, the Penguindrum Elements, the Nemuro Research, the Saionji/Touga/Nanami Entanglement) all starting to converge onto each other. Akio's (hopefully dramatic) entrance allows for a number of less-written-about SKU characters (Kanae, Tatsuya, Mrs. Ohtori, Mamiya) to show up in the story; more will follow in the coming parts.


	8. Missing Link I

**Notes:**

At last, we've gotten to the "Missing Link" portion of the story - a series of chapters devoted to revealing the complicated backstory of Seinen Kakumei Utena. Largely set in the Nemuro Research Era, this part shall focus on how Tokiko came to be a pawn in Akio's sinister game, as well as how those surreal Mawaru-Penguindrum elements came to be. Even at the risk of making the fic even longer than it already is, I've written Miki's father into the story because it fits just right. Oh, and I think everyone could tell just who those trio of girls following the future Mrs. Ohtori around really are.

**Seinen Kakumei Utena**

Utena and its characters belong to its various owners.

**Part Eight: Missing Link I**

Time: 10 years post-revolution

Place: Chida Mansion

"Nemuro-kun . . . please endure,"

They had since reentered the room of stars, and have since laid Nemuro down over the red canopy draped bed – now attached to a cluttering of EU operating room equipments. Donning surgery gloves and masks just like the EU nurses, all four penguins now were crowded around the pink-haired man, as they started "operating" on him under Chida Tokiko's pained, worried gaze; Nemuro himself was expressionless to the point of appearing almost mannequin-like, like he really was the computer-like man people from their other lifetime had labeled him as, back when-

"Chida-san,"

Turning around, Tokikio saw that the Shadow Boys, both standing beside Kozue, now were "semi-illuminated" as they watched her with visible eyes clouded with questions.

"The graying Indian man said you had this Fate Diary," said S-taro, his voice airy and brittle around the edges, "was it pink, with two dragons on the front cover, and a sea turtle on the back?" He raised his voice, its sound urgent and demanding. "Are you related to the Oginome family?"

"The Indian was involved in the Kiga Subway attack, wasn't he?" K-taro's voice and expression were tension filled, edgy. "Was he working for Sanetoshi? You guys were talking about this Fate Train Research . . . is that what you people call the attack?" The boy now was as fearful as he was angry. "You . . . you had a laser-thingy that looks just like Masako's . . . were you part of Kiga?"

Brown eyes glinting with more than reflected lights, Tokiko observed the boys for a brief, quiet moment, prior to speaking.

"I see you're both remembering a lot of things," she said. "Would you mind telling me your real names? I'd rather call you boys something a little more formal than K-taro and S-taro." S-taro opened his mouth as if to reply, but stopped as K-taro tugged on his hand.

"Boys!" Kozue chided them for their distrust against their main helper.

"It's okay," soothed Tokiko, before again facing the Shadow Boys somberly. "I think I'm now closer to finding out your true identities than I ever was before . . . small world, indeed." Her voice and expression grew even more somber. "I did eventually find out about Watase Sanetoshi, and what the boy was to become. There is one thing about the late Kiga Leader I'm certain of: he had to be the one working _for_ the Graying Indian Man, and not the other way around." She glanced off and away into the distance. "With the Ends of the World, it's never the other way around." Behind her, the penguins continued their work on Nemuro, who bore the cutting and prying in motionless silence. "The day I fell into his trap must've been over thirty years ago."

* * *

Time: 20 + years pre-revolution

Place: Ohtori Academy, Japan Branch

"So how'd you find the place, Tokiko-kun?" asked the Acting Chairman, a towering, exotic man now smiling down upon her with even teeth that seemed all the whiter against the rich tone of his dark complexion.

"Well . . ." Chida Tokiko, Project Inspector sent forth by the Board of Directors, made a show of studying the fine, almost cathedral-like architecture of the prestigious private academy, all the while cursing the heat on her face that she knew would betray an unbecoming flush, "this certainly looks more than equipped for peaceful studying." She had not taken on this job to court handsome men; this was all for the sake of . . . a slip on an inconspicuously stone-resembling patch of ice sent her sliding sideways . . . and right into the Acting Chairman's solid embrace.

"Careful," he spoke, his breath a little too ticklish against her ear.

"Thank you," she quickly straightened up and away from him; handsome as the Acting Chairman might be, he really was acting too familiar with her. "The fault is mine for venturing out without winter boots, thinking the snow should've melted with spring so close."

"The snow doesn't melt easily around these parts," said the man, hands in his coat pockets, smothering eyes on her, "which, considering the topic of the Research, seems appropriate." Tokiko, studying the snow stains marring her velvet high heels, felt a pang in her heart.

"Yes . . ."

" . . . don't think we've been introduced formally before, Professor."

At the voice and the footsteps, Tokiko looked to the distance (how sound could travel in crisp winter air) to see a male student hot on the heels of a pink-haired man who somehow managed to appear understated despite his violet jacket and shades. The student (nondescript by comparison) extended his hand to the man. "Inoue, Inoue-"

"Inoue Tsukiichi," the pink-haired man – whom Tokiko now recognized as the renowned genius Professor Nemuro, Project Coordinator of the revolutionary research which drew her here working as its inspector – walked on without stopping. "I've come across your name on the file listing."

Even at the bluntly dismissive reply, Inoue Tsukiichi picked up his steps as he kept on chasing after the professor, following him up a flight of snow-coated steps; there was a flash of magenta glint as he moved, drawing Tokiko's attention to the rather flamboyant ring on his left hand-

"Tokiko-kun?" Akio called back to her from where he now stood a little further ahead.

"Ah," Tokiko hurriedly caught up to the man. "Sorry to keep you-" Her perfunctory apology got cut short by his hand clasping down upon her waist.

"Your waist is so small," his purr reminded her of a languid lion, "I can wrap both hands completely around it."

There was a flash of red-colored . . . something fluttering briefly across a corner of her vision (looking like a flag? a dress?), disappearing almost immediately upon the split second that she saw it. Either way, the distraction was enough for to break whatever charming spell the sensuous man was weaving around her, as Tokiko quickly armored herself up with the glacial poise she often used against overtly eager men in the workplace.

"Rumor has it that your hands are big enough to keep even Chairman Ohtori right in your palm, Acting Chairman-san."

Giving no hint of having been stung, the Acting Chairman tilted his head back and laughed. "Purely rumors, of course." His deep-set green eyes glanced sideways down upon her. "Who's been spreading them, I wonder?"

Tokiko smiled saccharinely back up at him. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

His hand retracted, and she spoke no more for the rest of their walk to the faculty office.

* * *

Back home, she found four pairs of little girl shoes at the door - with one pair smaller and significantly more expensive than the others – and knew that her brother had again been inviting his new friends over.

"Chida Nee-san," a blue-haired little girl, exquisite as a well-crafted doll given life in her luxuriant frilly dress, came into view giving the woman a dainty bow, "welcome back. I've come by to bring Mamiya-kun some of my class notes, and is just about to leave."

"Thank you, Hoshimi-chan." Tokiko beamed indulgently at the young lady, and at the taller, older trio in less fancy dresses having since come up from behind. "Ayako-chan, Byako-chan, Cyako-chan; good to see you girls here."

"Hi, Chida Nee-chan~" replied the three via their a synchoized, theatrical-sounding chorus, before they skipped foreward to swarm her from all sides in fluttery, colorful blurs not unlike that of flapping moth wings.

"Well, how'd you find the Acting Chairman?"

"Isn't he every bit the fox we say he is?"

"And every bit as dangerous!"

"We knew he weaseled his way to power somehow!"

"Why would the Academy need an Acting Chairman when the real Chairman is alive and well-"

"Girls." Ohtori Hoshimi called out in a quietly warning voice rather precocious for her years – one that signified her status as said real Chairman's only child – and the trio of older students all backed off from a mildly overwhelmed Tokiko to regroup by the younger girl's side entourage-like. "Pardon their exuberance, for they're members of the Drama Club."

"Oh no," Tokiko quickly reoriented herself as she smiled graciously at these children. "Thank you all for coming by to see Mamiya." "Did he . . . ?"

"We made sure Chida-kun took his medicine right after eating, and that he got back to bed an hour afterwards," assured Hoshimi; Tokiko relaxed.

"Mamiya is lucky to have a bright young lady as yourself as his pen pal and friend, Hoshimi-chan; you even helped him make so many lovely friends so soon after our coming here." She made sure to include the other girls into the conversation so they would not feel left out – ill feelings festered easily between such children.

To Tokiko's surprise, Byako giggled as if having heard a biting joke. "Oh, Chida-kun made _more_ than just friends here, Nee-chan."

Ayako was already eagerly leaning forward. "Do you know? Do you know? Do you wonder what we know?"

Cyako clasped her hands together while kicking a foot backwards. "The little prince falls for the sweet rose blossoming in the vipers' pit; drama ensues-"

"Girls!" Ohtori Hoshimi raised her voice at them – rather harshly, this time – prior to speaking softly to Tokiko. "Pardon their crude manners, for they're of common origins." The trio traded ironic hurt looks from behind the stern-faced girl's back.

Tokiko could do little but to smile warmly at them all.

As the girls were leaving, the trio took turns whispering furtively in the woman's ears while their young mistress was busy with donning her jacket and shoes.

"Watch out for a guy called Inoue Tsukiichi from among the hundred working under Professor Nemuro."

"The man is keen on marrying into the Ohtori fortune, and will stop at nothing to achieve this goal."

"Girls . . . !" Hoshimi, already beyond the opened door, called back to her "friends" in the tone of one calling after straying dogs they were walking.

"Then . . . au revoir!" said one of the trio – Tokiko could not discern who was who amidst their rapid, theatrical dancing around – before they all flitted out of the door hurrying after the Ohtori heiress, who was already getting onto her chauffered family sedan. Locking the door behind the girls prior to letting out the sigh she had been holding in all along, the woman finally got to check on the one to have invited the girls over – the very reason why she had gotten the job at Ohtori's Board of Directors – her terminally ill younger brother, whom all the doctors had long since given up on.

Said brother was clearly awake in his bed, his doe-like brown eyes narrowing in a (Languid? Weary?) smile at seeing her.

"Nee-san."

"You should be asleep by now," she chided while sitting down on the stool cushion beside the bed. "Did you behave yourself in front of the ladies, Mamiya?"

Mamiya rolled a thin shoulder. "What could I possibly do to them that can count as misbehaving?"

Tokiko knocked her brother lightly on the forehead. "Don't say such stupid things, you brat."

Mamiya let out a light chuckle . . . one that betrayed his shortness of breath; Tokiko felt her heart sank: the many medications were having very little effects on his ever-weakening state, after all.

"Hey, Mamiya?"

"Hmm?"

"Have you been going to the Academy by yourself?"

All at once, all the jocular mannerism vanished off of her brother, to be replaced by the hardened, guarded look the boy had been displaying with increasing frequency as per the decay of his health: no, Nee-san, the roses would not be happy having been made to last so long; no, Nee-san, the flowers would not be happy with keeping their petals only to never bear fruit; no, Nee-san, I'm fine with dying like any other terminally ill _human being_ – I do not wish for eternity, especially not one that will keep me being twelve forever and ever . . .

"You're taking all your courses here by correspondence," biting back developing tears, Tokiko's pressed on with her words, which came out a notch harsh sounding. "There's really no need for you to-"

"Did the skinny trio say something to you?" asked her brother, boyish tenor blunt and stinging.

"Mamiya," Tokiko willed her voice and expression to soften, so as not to agitate the frail boy. "I know you like Hoshimi-chan, and that she likes you . . . but Hoshimi-chan is not an ordinary girl," _and certainly not without her flaws,_ thought the woman. "As Chairman's Ohtori's only child, her husband will inherit from her leadership over the entire the Ohtori clan. Even though Hoshimi-chan is still so young, there are already a number of people out there who are keen on possessing her. For you to join in the fray-"

"It's shameless," Mamiya gritted out the words with as much hatred as his young mind could muster up, "all those men acting like they're courting Ohtori-chan when they're all just after the money and power; rabid old goats."

Tokiko, who did not know whether she should laugh or cry at her twelve-year old brother's condemnation of the late teens in the Research as being "old goats", settled for hanging her head.

"I see Ohtori-chan," her innocent, ailing brother went on. "I'm the only one who do; I will be her prince even if it cost me my everything!"

Exhaling in exasperation, Tokiko wordlessly began the mechanical process of setting up the gadgets for Mamiya's sleep-aiding injection, all the while hoping that Ohtori's Reseach could shed more hope upon her brother's increasingly hopeless-seeming health situation.

A few days later, having finally acquired all the proper paper work, Tokiko went straight for Professor Nemuro, intent on making him speed up the revolutionary Research on Eternity – not for the Academy, of course, but for her brother; for slowing or perhaps maybe even stopping the ever-worsening decay of his failing body.

Student assistants, their stances assured and worldly despite the ill-looking design of the Ohtori boy's uniform they had to wear, could be seen milling about at every nook and corner of the research building; Tokiko could not help but again notice how they all were donning rings identical to the one she saw on Inoue Tsukiichi – the very one Ohtori Hoshimi's entourage had warned her about. A number of them were carrying uprooted young trees around – were those relevant to the Research? With the plants looking so leafless and dry, the woman wondered what was the point of protecting their likely deadened roots by keeping them under wraps . . .

That was then that she saw.

Redness – the same crimson shade as what she saw just days ago while the Acting Chairman was putting the moves on her – could be seen fluttering out from beyond a dim, shadowy corner to the side. This time, the woman could see that it was actually a piece of puffed, creased fabric likely belonging to a full length-ed, full bottom dress, and it now flowed adrift upon the air in spite of how it was winter indoor. Curiosity piqued, Tokiko stepped up towards the ill-lit corner . . .

"So that's Professor Nemuro, the genius? And he really doesn't know about our current research subject?"

"Looks that way. But, the Professor's intellect is warranted by you-know-who."

Startled by the conversation's topic – and the fact that she recognized one of the nasally teen boy voices to be Inoue Tsukiichi's – Tokiko lightened her steps as she moved soundlessly up to the corner, and peeked around -

"His thesis is interesting, but the man himself is quite dry," Inoue Tsukiichi, cigarette between his lips, leaned towards another paler, also cigarette suckling boy, igniting the latter's tip in a rather intimate manner; ironically, the two happened to be standing right underneath a "NO SMOKING" sign.

"Let him act how he wants, Inoue-san," smoky gaze upon bright-eyed Inoue, the paler boy inhaled deeply, prior to taking the cigarette between two fingers to speak better – the rose motif ring glinting under the dim lights as per his hand movement. "People who act like him can make enemies without realizing it, and that will be his downfall."

"Ha, I don't care enough about the Professor to want his downfall – he is just like a computer." Exhaling clouds of smoke, Inuoe took out his cigarette as he leaned towards the other boy such that the tips of their noses now are touching. "We'll use him for all he's worth . . . Kaoru-san."

Instead of backing away, the boy Kaoru spoke with his pouty lips brushing against Inuoe's thinner ones. "How are things proceeding with Ohtori-chan?"

"Proceeding as planned."

"Then it's all good. With you being a secured item with Ohtori-chan, and me having a hold on the Acting Chairman's sister, the world is ours. And when we're alone like this . . ." With that, the boys went through the door marked "REAR EXIT", their lusty chuckles audible until the door shut itself behind them.

Neither noticed the key left on the floor: one that had slipped out of Inuoe Tsukiichi's pocket during the more than friends' sizzling conspiring earlier on. Deftly picking up the item, she slipped it into her own pocket and went on her way to the meeting with Professor Nemuro.

Homosexual liaisons among the Research's assistants were not her concern . . . if not for the fact that the boys involved were both romantically linked with girls of power and prestige in the Academy – with one of the boys being her ailing brother's love rival, even. Did Mamiya know about this? Was that why he was so hostile towards the Research and its assistants?

And there was also another matter that concerned her as the Inspector overseeing the Research – that the student assistants harbor ill feelings towards Professor Nemuro, Research Coordinator. Unsurprising, considering how the man was both brilliant and cold – an awe-inducing yet alienating combination. However she looked at it, this could only be detrimental to the already difficulty-plagued Research; just one more thing she needed to go over with the Professor.

Vaguely, she wondered about just where had that red-dressed person that had lead her to eavesdropping on the boys disappeared off into; having no clues to follow up on, the woman had no choice but to redirect her focus upon what was coming up ahead.

* * *

"You're the Research Coordinator, Professor Nemuro, right?

"I was sent by the Board of Directors.

"I'm here as their current inspector, Chida Tokiko. Pleased to meet you."

* * *

Tokiko's first impression of Professor Nemuro was that he was every bit the socially-inept, computer-like genius she thought he would be.

"You've called me all the way out to your house, so what do you want?" asked the man – the very first man to have reacted so coldly to being invited to her home. She tried to lighten the atmosphere into one more conductive for conversation with inane small talk (although she was indeed mystified by the hourglass running so peculiarly slow during the tea making), but the Professor would have none of that.

"This job I was given is running its course as planned," stated the man, apparently seeing right through her intent to make him hurry his Research. "I can't guarantee completion, however."

"I know that you're not one for taking orders from others . . ." Tokiko then tried to butter up the Professor by praising his genius-quality; said genius, however, dismissed her attempt, as he then had the gall to lecture her on the sheer arrogance of mere humans trying to grasp eternity (this from the Research Coordinator advancing the work) . . .

Just when the conversation was about to degenerate into an argument, Mamiya's sneaking out of bed into the greenhouse broke the tension. Even as she harshly scolded her brother for again endangering his fragile health, she noticed Professor Nemuro's wide-eyed expression (one that made him looked more like a wonder-filled youth than a haughty genius), and realized that she had been crying.

While running off after uttering quick apologies (no way could she reveal runny makeup in front of a near-stranger), Tokiko noticed her usually unsociable little brother being exceptionally amiable towards the Professor, who appeared awkward yet sincere as he conversed with the ailing boy. Having speedily cleaned up as she hurried back to the greenhouse, she found to her surprise the boy and man still getting along well in spite of their equally incompetent social skills.

That was the moment she started letting down her guard against the Professor: any man willing to know and be kind to her brother was good in her book.

After putting her brother in bed and having made him take his injection, Tokiko continued on the conversation with Nemuro, this time in a more sincere manner:

"It's for his sake, that I'm involved in this.

"The doctors have told me that there's nothing left but to give up hope.

"But if the research succeeds . . ."

Even with his stance softened by empathy, Nemuro's words remained blunt as ever. " The research has nothing to do with medicine; even if it succeeds, it may not help your brother's illness."

"But, maybe I could grasp eternity for him," insisted Tokiko, studying the mirror against which she placed her picture with Mamiya in a vain attempt to cool the budding desperation in her heart. From the mirror's reflection, she saw something glimmering within Nemuro's now much warmer eyes – something _definitely_ more than mere pity – and Tokiko found herself actually becoming a little bashful. "I'm sorry for crying like this."

"It's all right," Nemuro assured her, the understated tenderness of his current expression brought out the true beauty of his exquisitely androgynous features, revealing the "computer-like genius" to also be a humanly attractive man.

"Is there someone important in your life?" she could not help but ask, even knowing that for once, it was her being too-familiar with the opposite sex. "Or is it that geniuses never fall in love with other people?"

"So it would seem," murmured Nemuro, his faint blush showing evidence to the contrary.

A light, impish titter could faintly be heard in the air – one that they knew to be from Mamiya's room – giving away the fact that her sharp-eared little brother had been eavesdropping on them all along, and had managed to read between their lines with his precocious mind.

"Oh, the _brat_ . . ." Tokiko raised a hand to her own face, and found it red hot to her great mortification. Surprisingly, it was Nemuro who started chuckling first, with her too joining in soon afterwards.

This was, perhaps, a rather insignificant moment in her frantic day-to-day; but Tokiko could not help but think that should she have eternity in her grasp, she would want for times like this to last more than a while longer.

* * *

Under Tokiko's supervision, Nemuro started devoting a lot more effort into the Research, with his peculiar experiments now producing more definite results than ever.

"All the other trees have since withered away within a month after getting uprooted, un-watered, and placed out of the sun," he said to her, gesturing at the dried, leafless trees in the ill-lit underground lab, none taller than a young prepubescent lad, prior to pointing at one that had not only remained full-leafed, but were sprouting small buds. "This one, however, flourishes on as if still rooted upon fertile soil under the sun; at this rate, its buds may even blossom into full bloom."

"Incredible," Tokiko gently caressed the tree's fresh, supple leaves, her manicured fingertips brushing against the small, green buds. "Could this be . . . an apple tree?"

"Malus domestica," replied Nemuro – fitting that he would term the plant by its binominal name, "under Rosaceae." His voice, however, was warm at the edges. "I thought you'd find this less than impressive after having seen the Arena and the Castle."

Yes . . . there were those too: the arena hidden behind a forest, up in the sky, over which hovered an upside down castle said to contain eternity. She would never have had believed in the existences of such logic-defying things, if not for that mind boggling tour Nemuro gave her showcasing his research's progress thus far. Even with the definite, complicated equations involved in their eventual harnessing – those were not man-made creations, as the genius professor had told her, but rather, pre-existing cosmic entities partially accessed by human means – it all still seemed surreally magical to her.

"Those were indeed . . . impressive, but what you have here is so much more relevant to what we're . . ." something occurred to the Project Inspector then. "But onward growth goes rather against the concept of eternity, doesn't it?"

She saw Nemuro's lips quirking in a conspiratory smirk. "I want to steer the Research in a direction that can best help even a terminally ill child recover and grow."

Tokiko's heart skipped at beat at the man's frankness. "Nemuro-san . . ." even while heady with exuberance – a emotion she had not felt since her parents' death, since taking on the crippling burden of being her sickly brother's sole caretaker – the Project Inspector still kept herself clear-headed enough to ask the important questions. "But what about the students working at the neighboring section? Surely they will not approve of the Research going off course."

"My contract with the Academy allows for me to keep secret the details of my work to even my assistants – who are contracted to carry out the tasks I give them without question." Nemuro's violet eyes narrowed behind his shades. "Besides, the boys in the neighboring section haven't exactly been frank with me regarding what they've been doing on their end either."

Tokiko arched a brow at his words. So Nemuro had noticed the blatant cover up regarding the student assistants' work right in this same research building – work that even she, the Project Inspector, had been denied full access due to the intricacies in their contracts – noticed, but cared not.

"Not like I care what they've been up to anyway," Nemuro's words confirmed her belief. "So long as they stay out of my way, it's fine."

Tokiko wanted to tell the Professor that he should care; that it was always what people overlooked that proved their downfall. He had to realize how he was up against young vipers wearing the skins of youths – most of whom more malevolent than the science-focused genius could ever hope to be. Already, they're keeping research progress from even him, their Research Coordinator. Should he continue on underestimating them-

Flump . . .

The sound of fluttering fabrics startled the preoccupied woman into turning sharply towards the glass-screen lab door, through which she again saw that enigmatic fluttering red dress – this time in much greater detail than before.

It was a medieval princess costume, one tailored in a full bottom style so theatrical as to be almost cartoon-ish by modern standards. At first glance, it looked like the windswept (despite their being indoor) dress was hovering phantom-like in the ill-lit hallway; a closer look revealed its wearer to be a petite female (one probably still in her teens, judging by her figure) whose hair was done up in a rigid, chucky updo, whose features were completely shrouded under shadows; glasses, glinting as ice patches, gave away the coldly watchful gaze Tokiko knew was pointing at her like an icy blade.

"Who are you?" she asked, already rushing towards the lab door. The cluttered "failed" trees were scraping at the fine material of her garments . . . which soon got tangled up against various leafless branches. By the time she finally managed to get up to that door, the red-dressed girl was already nowhere to be found; only an apple, bearing that exact same shade of crimson as the dress, remained upon the floor. Picking it up, she studied the sticker bearing the text "KIGA APPLE", with a penguin motif printed underneath the words. Feeling indentions under her fingertips, she turned the fruit around to discover the letters carved onto the crimson skin:

FATE

_What in the world . . . ?_

Nemuro had by now came up to beside her. "Tokiko-san?"

"Nemuro-san, that girl in the red dress had been watching us through the lab door," she said, feeling her heart racing, "did you see where she go?"

"I did not see anyone," he got a better look at the apple in her hand. "This is . . ."

Under their incredulous gazes, the carved letters started fading quickly off the apple's surface, disappearing completely off the fruit's surface.

Tokiko squinted her eyes at the apple's now unblemished skin. "Is this . . . regeneration? But . . . there should at least have been scar tissues left behind . . ." She handed the apple to Nemuro, who studied it with his cool, analytical gaze.

"Reversal of state," stated the genius Professor, "like the 'time' of this apple has been made to reverse, even while our time flows on; like the snow accumulation outside remaining frozen despite the rising temperatures, or that hourglass running slow the first time you invited me over for tea." His frown deepened. "I've long since suspected that something is affecting the flow of time around the Academy and its surrounding areas; is this phenomenon related to the Research?" Tokiko studied the man's expression for a brief, wordless moment.

"Nemuro-san, how much info have you got on the neighboring section's Fate Train Theorm?" She saw, to her non-surprise, the startled reaction in him that she expected – the Research Coordinator knew, but thought that she, the Project Inspector, did not. "I've since gone through all the profiles of the student assistants. Amongst them, Inoue Tsukiichi had entered the Research with the top academic achievements. Even though the student researchers are using their contracts as shield to keep even I from accessing details of their work, there are those who will talk." Her voice darkened huskily. "Apparently, Inoue Tsukiichi has been developing the Fate Train Theorem away from the Board of Directors' supervision - supposing that people's fate are as 'trains' upon which they are passengers, and that by 'transferring trains' people could supposedly take on another fate while leaving their original destiny behind. Despite its outlandish nature, they say the Theorem's development is nearing completion."

Composing his expression, Nemuro placed the apple into a glass case, where a narrow spotlight illuminated it as specimen on display.

"Fate," he mulled the word over while fiddling with the contents of a folder, "the peculiar subtopic the Academy has placed under our research – which, by logic, should include only topics relevant to eternity. Even though the young men had told me nothing but clumsy lies about what they do, there are those close to them eager to ally themselves with me for their own gains, and they've been acting as my eyes and ears all along. If their words are to be believed, then somewhere within this building is a factory operated by the neighboring division in secret."

"A factory . . . here?" Tokiko had not heard about this one before. "Producing what?"

Having found what he was looking for, Nemuro produced a photo from the folder, and handed it to Tokiko. The Project Inspector could not help but be visibly baffled by what she saw.

"This is . . .?"

"They may not look it, but the data I got suggest that these are indeed perpetual motion robots – ones infused with advanced AI, holographic camouflages, among many other high tech components. One of their many functions is to channel their users' brain waves, thus serving as extensions of their persons accordingly . . . almost like medieval familiar spirits being resurrected by cutting edge technology."

The photo showed an opened card box on an angled conveyor belt, where three blue, rotund objects looking suspiciously like children's penguin stuff toys were cluttered in its confines. The card box had the same penguin motif as could be seen on the time-reversed apple, underneath which the words "Pingroup Inc" remained faintly visible upon the startlingly-high resolution image.

Turning her gaze towards the apple in the showcase – unmarred except for the penguin motif sticker – Tokiko resolved to pry deeper into the neighboring section's research, to make sure that it will not jeopardize the miracle Nemuro was trying to create via this Research.

She would allow nothing to stand in the way of her brother's survival.

* * *

/"Professor Nemuro is awfully excited about the project recently, isn't he?"/

/"Didn't the Board of Directors send an inspector?"/

/"She really seems to be just right for the job."/

/"Can no one beat a genius at his game?"/

/"Then, does the Professor still not know what all this is about?"/

Playing one of the many tapes she recorded from the various spy bugs she had since planted all around the research building, and listening via one single earphone (she kept her other ear free to listen for potential intruders), Tokiko's strained attention perked as she finally came upon something relevant to what she wanted to find out.

/"He can have his Upside Down Castle, we shall have our Hole in the Sky,"/ said a voice she recognized to be Inoue Tsukiichi's. /"With all the mysteries of the world clearly documented within the library's infinite confines, there's no way we'd lose in this fixed race between Eternity versus Fate."/

/"That Watase boy's 'familiar' invention is like the icing on our cake."/ said another voice – Kaoru Yuki, Inoue's "friend". /"You know, he keeps asking me about when would he be formally allowed into the Research."/

/"Like they would take a grade schooler onboard . . . kid should be grateful that we're realizing so many of his outlandish ideas with the Research's funding to begin with! I can't believe we've let him wrest us into designing the revolutionary perpetual motion robot to look like a penguin toy."/

/"Geniuses can be stubborn when they got fixated on something, and that one-track-mindedness is what makes them easy to exploit. We shall win against Nemuro, and have that which is promised to us by you-know-who."/

"You-know-who . . . " she tapped her manicured nail tips against her desk, murmuring aloud in her puzzlment. "Just what are the little vipers going to have?"

"A taste of the Fruit of Fate."

The deep, masculine drawl coming from behind shocked Tokiko into almost dropping her earphone. Turning around, she saw, to her disbelief, the tall, imposing figure of Acting Chairman Himemiya Akio being impossibly present in her locked office room; and she could not even cry for help, not with the evidences of her illegal eavesdropping all over her own office desk.

"Have you not come to this academy seeking eternity for your brother?" asked the man, his dark, broad hand holding out an apple – one with the penguin motif sticker – in front of her widened eyes. "Here is eternity, right in front of your eyes . . . but whether you can grasp it or not depends upon what you might, or might not, be willing to do."

"You're related to the girl in the red dress," stated Tokiko, taking in the contrast of dark skin against crimson shirt, all the while willing her shaky voice to again be steady. "You're also the one in control of the hundred student assistants in place of Professor Nemuro, and the one who apparently controls the powerful Ohtori Clan. Are you the reason behind the illogical, mystical elements of the Research, as well as the unusual time flow around the area? Just what are you, really?"

"So many questions, " Silver-haired head shaking with mirth, Himemiya Akio put down the apple, prior to producing a ring identical to those worn by the student assistants, which he then dangled in front of her pallid face. "I can give you answer to that which you ask, but it will require you being contracted to me via this ring." Tokiko make no move to take the ring. "I see you hesitate still. By now, only one question should remain for you: who do you think could save your brother in time – me, or him?"

"Show me proof," insisted the woman, refusing to back down even amidst her growing uncertainties. "If you say you can save Mamiya ahead of Nemuro-san, then show me how you do it!"

Akio's devilish smirk broadened into a canines showing grin. "All that and more, I shall reveal to you. I'll show you the Ends of the World; yes, even you."

**End Part Eight**


	9. Missing Link II

**Seinen Kakumei Utena**

Utena and Penguindrum characters belong to their various owners.

**Part Nine: Missing Link II**

Time: 10 years post-revolution

Place: Undisclosed

"So, the Acting Chairman made his move on Nee-san that early on, huh?" pondered Chida Mamiya, idly picking pieces of torn poppy petals off the tousled blue locks of the exquisite young girl in his arms – whose bare skin was hot against his, whose unbuttoned full-length dress now cloaked their nakedness in fine, luxuriant ripples.

"That was when he offered her the means to change your fate and give you eternity," murmured Ohtori Hoshimi, preserved in childhood here in this sanctuary. "With you being her only weakness, Childa Nee-san never stood a chance against him." Stretching catlike, the "girl" then turned away from him in one sinuous, womanly movement. "Neither did I, when my turn came."

Glancing out of the glass window of the greenhouse, over the pale stretches of piled snow, Mamiya's vision went hazy from clouded memories of that first person he ever respected, except for his sister; that self-proclaimed computer-like man who came alive for he and his sister to disastrous results. Before he knew it, a chuckle – raspy as the rustling of dried leaves – had since escaped his dried throat.

"What's so funny?" asked Hoshimi, in a tone suggesting that she already knew the answer.

"Hey, look," Uncaring of whether Hoshimi was looking or not, Mamiya dabbed a fingertip at a corner of his eye, then lifted a glistering drop under the pallid light. "It's a tear."

* * *

Time: 20 + years pre-revolution  
Place: Former Chida Residence

"Shouldn't you be asleep right now?"

"It's okay, I'm feeling a bit better today."

"I see." Adjusting his coat – the one he'd taken off inside the warmth of the greenhouse – somewhat unnecessarily over the garden table it now draped over, Professor Nemuro sat back and watched him with a focused-ness to his eyes that made his gaze almost analytical-seeming. While such a nakedly direct gaze would put off most people, Chida Mamiya was not one of them – being terminally ill, the boy much preferred direct honesty to affected sympathy while on borrowed time.

Having been cut off from school life by his unfortunate condition, the boy's craving for companionship naturally exceeded those of other "normal" children of his age. He figured the distinguished Professor to be the most interesting adult a kid like him could ever meet, and wanted to make the most of their every meeting before his limited time was to run out.

"The snow in this garden doesn't disappear so easily, does it?" commented Mamiya, hoping to incite a telling comment or two from the very genius behind the research on eternity; seeing none, the boy then switched over to another topic he knew would be of interest to them both. "My sister was called out by the Board of Directors, so she probably won't be back until evening."

"No, that's fine, I only came here today to see your face," said the Professor, with a tenderness atop his frankness that somehow made the boy blush with feelings he could not yet explain, no matter how precocious he thought himself to be."

"So, do you like it?" the boy hurried onto the next round of stuff to say. "It's a rose sugar-jam. My sister makes them . . ." As he went over the preserved dessert, the lacquered flowers, the things his sister do to keep what was hers preserved against time . . . including himself, the weary exasperation that had been a constant presence since his illness worsened started spewing forth before he could stop it. " . . . being forced to last so long. Eternity doesn't exist in this world, does it? It's just an impossibility held up for people to romanticize."

"You don't think that what your sister and I are doing is going to succeed?" asked the Professor, his gently crestfallen expression reminding him of how his sister had looked back when she combed through an entire shopping district to buy a limited edition robot for his past birthday, only to find out that he had already outgrown toys; Mamiya gulped audibly.

"I respect the two of you, and I'm grateful as well-"

"Chida-kun!"

"Ohtori-chan," Standing up at the sweetly girlish voice, Mamiya saw a frantic Hoshimi hurrying into the greenhouse in flutters of lacy frills – some of which brushing against the cluttered flora to petal scattering effects.

"It changed again!" Carrying the specimen case that once hanged upon the living room wall, the girl thrust it at him urgently. "And this time . . ."

Taking the case from Hoshimi's hands, Mamiya did a double take at what he saw. "What the . . . ? Even if a preserved butterfly can somehow regress back into an egg, just where does that leaf come from?"

"Ah, Professor Nemuro!" The girl, who probably only now noticed the presence of the quiet man, quickly perfected her posture as she then gave a formal bow. "Good Afternoon."

Professor Nemuro nodded at the young Ohtori heiress like he would an ordinary little girl. "Good afternoon, Hoshimi-chan."

"This just proves it, Professor, time _is_moving strangely on various objects all around this area." Porcelain-fair complexion flushed with eagerness, she took a step up towards the Professor. "Allow me to be frank – is this phenomenon a sign of the Research gaining progress?"

"Sa . . ." noncommittal, Professor Nemuro grabbed his coat off the table. "I still got unfinished work that I must tend to." He turned to address Mamiya while donning his coat. "Thank you for having me. I'll be back again sometime." Finally, he gave the baffled Hoshimi a light nod while already walking away. "Good day, Hoshimi-chan."

Mamiya called after him. "Professor Nemuro. . ."

"Yes?"

"I'll be sure to tell my sister that you're worried about me.

The boy thought he saw a somewhat fragile smile curling on the man's lips, prior to his exiting the greenhouse and away.

"Am I the only one who thinks the Professor is obviously hiding something?" muttered Hoshimi.

Mamiya let out a heavy sigh. "Sa . . ."

"On the topic of the Research . . . " grabbing him by the hands, Hoshimi looked him in the eye solemnly. " I come today to tell you something that you should notify Chida Nee-san about . . ."

That evening, his sister returned much earlier than usual, in a state that he had not seen her in for some time: hair unruly, skin pallid, and bloodshot eyes glassy, she reminded him of the day she returned home bearing news of the meaningless accident that took their parents' lives. Even the feline-sharp alert that she always armored herself with was down, as she was actually stumbling past him by unseeingly.

" . . . Nee-san?" he called out to her, warily. The woman jolted as if getting snapped out of a trance.

"Ah, Mamiya!" She fumbled for something to say to him. "Why aren't you in bed?"

Mamiya blinked. "I'm just about to have dinner: I can't take the medication on empty stomach, remember?"

"Oh . . . is it still so early?" His sister checked her watch (while the clock was right on the wall beside her). "Leave the dinner box in the fridge, I'll be cooking tonight."

"Are you sure?" asked the boy, his worry going unnoticed by his clearly preoccupied sister.

"Mamiya, I'm thinking . . . maybe you can try stopping the medications starting tonight and through tomorrow." Seeing her ailing brother's stunned expression, she hurried to explain her peculiar (not to mention risky) suggestion. "It's just . . . medications are toxins too, and I'm thinking maybe you need to take a break from those once in a while."

"Okay," Mamiya supposed that made sense. "To be honest I don't feel like I need it as of now . . . I've been feeling very good today for some reason."

"That's . . . good." There's obvious relief to his sister's expression, but also something else . . . something strangely resigned, and blue . . . the boy then remembered something he needed to tell her.

"Nee-san, do you know? Hoshimi-chan and the Professor both dropped by today. The specimen case in the living room changed again! Whereas it was simply the butterfly regressing through its various stages, it now becomes a leaf with butterfly eggs . . ." his words trailed off at his sister listless retreat into her own room. "Nee-san?"

"Go wash your hands while I change, Mamiya; I'll fix you something good for dinner."

Thankfully, his sister was not so out of it that it hampered her cooking. The steak was evenly medium rare, the fried salmon skin crispy and flavored, the greens and fruit slices beautifully arranged . . . appetite roused, Mamiya let go of his earlier trepidations and dug heartily into the spectacular dinner under his sister's strangely wistful gaze.

"Your appetite is back, Mamiya. You haven't been able to eat this much for a very long time." Again, there was that gloomy something in her expression. Feeling self-conscious now, the boy rolled a thin shoulder.

"Perhaps I really am getting better all on my own. Maybe there's no need for you to pursue that eternity nonsense for me anymore, Nee-san."

"You've been against Ohtori's Research on Eternity since the very beginning," murmured his sister, whom the boy now noticed to have been eating very little thus far. "Yet, you get along so well with Nemuro-san."

"Professor Nemuro is a good, reliable man," said the boy between his full mouthfuls, stressing the word "reliable" in a not-so-subtle manner, "unlike those he has to collaborate with on the Research. I so want you to start seeing him outside of work; you're not getting any younger, Nee-san."

Instead of being miffed, his beautiful sister let out a worryingly sad chuckle. "So you like the Professor this much, huh." Seemingly eating only for appearance's sake, Nee-san nibbled on a slice of tomato that stained her lips red. "And still you hold a grudge against the student research assistants."

"They're a shameless lot." Said the boy, even more talkative than usual now that he feels more energized. "Oh top of their courting Ohtori-chan insincerely, it's been found that these 'brilliant' guys are really relying on someone outside of the research team for-"

"You know about Himemiya Akio?" asked his now wild-eyed sister in an unrecognizably shrill voice, as she reached across the table to clamp frantic hands upon his shoulders to painful effects.

" . . . I was just about to tell you that the student assistants had the gall to trick a fourth grader into doing their work for them," said Mamiya, and his sister released her grip immediately, prior to slumping back down onto her seat, ash-faced. "Himemiya Akio . . . Ohtori's Acting Chairman; what about him?"

"Nothing," muttered his sister prior to taking a deep, calming sip of her tea.

"You know . . . you're not even surprised when I tell you about the vipers stealing work off a fourth grader to use on the Research."

"I am; just that . . ."

"Nee-san, are you keeping things from me?" The boy's frown deepened as he watched the shakiness of his sister's hand on her teacup. "It's okay of you do . . . cause I'm still a brat and may not be much help with you troubles. But . . . if this is really troubling you, can't you talk it over with the Professor? He is a good man who cares about us, and he-"

"Mamiya." Putting down her teacup a little too loudly, his sister made a visible effort to compose her expression, prior to looking him in the eye. "In the days to come, you might see me acting in ways that you will think is . . . strange." She reached across the table to grab onto his hands in a firm, insistent grip. "Promise me that whatever you see me do, you'll know I'm doing it for you. Okay?"

That was when Mamiya abruptly noticed the reddened mark around her ring finger.

"Mamiya,"

Prompted by his sister's pleading voice, the boy glanced back up into her cloudy eyes, and nodded.

* * *

Things were relatively peaceful around the house for the next couple of days, with his sister returning late as usual, and he having to again contend with pre-made dinner boxes every evening. The almost daily injections, however, had ceased, that with his health condition having miraculously stabilized despite his staying completely off medication.

"Aside from some very mild dizzy spells and some joint aches, I don't really have much problems at all," said Mamiya to the visiting Hoshimi, as they have tea together in the greenhouse.

Hoshimi's gaze upon him – usually warm with cherishment - now bordered on being scrutinizing. "Then . . . it's kind of like how it was for you six months ago, back then you wrote me about how you were in the beginning stages of this illness, isn't it?"

A smart boy, Mamiya made the connection immediately. "You don't mean . . ."

Hoshimi tapped her slim fingertips pensively against the teacup. "I'm happy that you're getting better, but . . . for this to happen right when the butterfly reverted back into an egg really seem like too much of a coincidence. Chida-kun . . . you're a little bit smaller than when we first met . . ."

Mamiya's gaze turned inwards at the implication. "Then my time has also reversed . . . just like the butterfly specimen."

"More like the 'time' of your body has reversed, but not that of your mind," murmured the girl. "I want to think that this is a controlled result of the Research, but according to my sources, there are other forces at work beside Professor Nemuro-"

"There is no way Inuoe and his gang can rival the Professor in terms of ability," Mamiya cut her off, feeling the need to defend Nemuro somehow. "I've read the man's thesis, I _know_what he's capable of."

Hoshimi was visibly taken aback by the boy's fierce defense of the Professor's ability; nonetheless, she spoke on. "We mustn't forget that the student assistants have child prodigy Watase Sanetoshi-kun as their wildcard. Genius is a godly thing – it isn't proportional to things like age or background." Pause. "So, how did Chida Nee-san react to the news?"

Mamiya clucked his tongue. "She barely heard what I said, so out of it as she seemed. She's been keeping things from me; having me off medication, and acting all strange and secretive even around the house. She spends her nights in the basement now, you know, and she locks it when she's inside . . . but whenever I went down there to check while she's away, I can't find anything out of the ordinary." He trailed off at the look he got from Hoshimi. "Yes, I sneaked out of bed to check, Ohtor-chan . . . you don't think I'd just sleep through something strange happening right underneath this roof, do you?"

"Hn," eyes hooded, Hoshimi refilled Mamiya's cup for him. "Sources tell me that Inoue had lost the key to an important lab earlier on, which could've led to the recent theft in the assistants' division."

"A theft?"

"An item crucial to the Fate Train Theorem has been stolen . . . a 'Fate Diary' said to have the power to change fate."

" . . . I suppose such a thing would be more 'user friendly' than the Castle and the Arena combined," muttered the boy after a sip of his tea.

"I'm not so sure about that," said his sharp-minded little girl friend. "All these surreal things brought on by the Research are cosmic forces but partially harnessed by human means . . . just because something looks like a book doesn't mean it would be just as easy to handle. I heard that the first attempt by Inoue to experiment on it almost ended up burning down the lab – the Diary is apparently prone to spontaneous combustion." She paused briefly to finish her own cup. "I don't suppose you got a working smoke detector in your basement, Chida-kun?"

Mamiya's eyes widened at Hoshimi's question.

* * *

That night, his sister again returned late in the night, way past his sleep time.

And, as with the past couple of days, her light footsteps gave away the fact that she was again going into the basement, locking the door behind her.

Sneaking out of bed after a few minutes, Mamiya donned his sleeping robe and slippers, slipped out into the unlit hallway, and proceeded to soundlessly make his way to the basement door. Producing the lock pick that Hoshimi had left him, Mamiya carefully opened the door with it, as he then tiptoed down the flight of stairs.

Even as he was nearing the last step, he already could see the fluttery red shades rippling across the wall in front like bloodied waves, and knew to his apprehension that a sizable fire had to be brewing down below.

But even then, the boy still was completely unprepared for what he saw at the turn of the stairs.

There was his sister, standing with her arms outstretched, her feet crossed, _completely_ _engulfed_in flames so strong, the entire space was basked under their saffron lights.

Mamiya would have screamed, if not for the fact that he immediately saw the pink, glowing book hovering in midair in front of his sister, its pages rapidly turning as if tossed by phantom winds. His sister, while aflame, did not wither under the fiery blaze; rather, she appeared resplendently unharmed, as she chanted in a voice largely defused by the fire's hiss, with none of her words audible to his ear.

" . . . what's that on your finger?"

Even covered in fire, the familiar-looking rose motif ring was clearly visible upon his sister's left hand, glowing like the heated metal it was against her luminous, unharmed skin.

"Nee-san . . . ?"

The boy suddenly realized that his sister could neither see nor hear him, so engrossed was she was in whatever magic she was currently working with her now witch-like -

Flump . . .

Somewhat impossibly, the boy heard the sound of fluttering fabrics coming from behind him in spite of the flames' sound. Turning around, he saw a slim, shadow-cloaked figure in a lab coat, watching him behind coldly glinting glasses, prior to slipping up and beyond the turn of the basement stairs.

Mamiya did not – nor did he had time to – think twice about going after the eerie intruder.

By the time he got up to the living room, the intruder was already slipping out of the front door; Mamiya quickly followed as he gave chase into the night.

The sky was cloudlessly clear – the way it had been since that snowfall from weeks ago, with that same accumulated built up from then still covering the roads in spite of the approaching spring – and the stars were vivid to the point of resembling those from a planetarium's projections. The winds were the chilliest on nights like this, and he had the foolishness to come running out without winter coat, let alone snow boots . . .

Surprisingly, the frail boy did not so much as shiver in this winter night - he felt the night wind against his flimsy robe and exposed skin, but none of its chilliness; and there was no slush to hamper his running, as his indoor slippers were tapping smoothly, easily upon the dry wooden ties of an extremely narrow gauge railroad – one that he did not recall having ever seen around the area. The houses were gone, as were the road pavements . . . as was the entire residential neighborhood; all around, there was nothing but the starry, galactic space, with the railroad existing impossibly upon nothing. Up ahead, the figure in the lab coat appeared to be pushing some kind of loaded flatback trolley along the tracks; though it (as Mamiya had since realized that whatever it is not have been human) moved in seemingly languid steps, Mamiya found that he could not catch up to it no matter how fast he thought he was running.

"Who are you?" cried the boy as he ran after the thing, brittle heart speeding hazardously within his thin chest. "What were you doing at our house? What's happening to my sister? _What_-"

The entity in the lab coat tossed something backwards over a shoulder in an arc of glittery light . . . and it found its way into his opened throat, giving him no choice but to swallow. It was sweet, crisp, and cool . . . tasting just like a slice of . . .

. . . apple?

And, along with that realization, Mamiya found his surroundings changing with such abruptness, that the boy almost tripped over his own feet.

It still was night, and the stars still were glittering brightly above; but he now found himself in the courtyard outside Ohtori Academy's research building – a spot he had since familiarize himself with from the times he sneaked out of the house to meet with Hoshimi at school. There was a white-draped long table illuminated by a singular candelabra, upon which a feast of apples, grapes, and pears had been laid out, accompanied by champagne glasses and stacks of empty plates; upon closer look, all the apples had penguin motif stickers upon their crimson surfaces.

The setting was that of an elegant evening party – one with no attendee in sight. Nasally male voices, eerily diffused yet still very much audible, hovered adrift over the cool night air:

_"The road to the Dueling arena is now open."_

_"At last, that is about to begin."_

_"And now, Professor Nemuro's duty is finished."_

_"From now on, carrying on without him is probably what you-know-who plans on."_

_"Surely even he'll lose to someone."_

_"We can just leave him by the wayside."_

_"Well then, let's open the champagne."_

_ Pop!_

"Ah, Chida-kun," his nemesis' voice, sounding very real from behind him, startled the boy into jolting. Turning around, what he saw made him did a double take.

Inoue Tsukiichi, looking drunk on liquor, was wobbling past with his arm around the slim shoulder of Kaoru Yuki – a shameless goat perversely supportive of his mate going after Hoshimi. A trio of dresses – not girls, the feminine attires hovering in midair as if worn by invisible females – could be seen flanking the boys in dramatically coquettish poses.

"Shouldn't terminally ill little boys be in bed by now?" asked Inoue, snide and completely oblivious to the strangeness surrounding them.

"Are high school students allowed to drink now?" Mamiya asked him back, the dream-like surreal-ness of the moment having lessened his inhibition against petty verbal sparring. The older boy's derisive laughter came accompanied by peals of girlish giggles – ones the younger boy recognized to belong to the drama club trio who used to hang around Hoshimi all the time.

What did this mean? Were the girls invisible now?

"A correspondence student like you probably don't know," Kaoru piped up then, "but we who wear this ring can do anything in this Academy." The pale-skinned youth flashed his rose motif ring at the boy in a gesture not unlike that of a society debutante flaunting her jewelry.

The reminder that the same ring now was on his witchcraft-working sister's finger hit Mamiya like a blow to the chest.

Even in his frantic state, the boy noticed the dog collar visible around Kaoru's neck, one with a red leash so long, it trailed out of view into the surrounding darkness . . . who or what was holding the other end?

"So tell us more, Inoue-kun," spoke the suspended red dress in Ayako's voice. "How was your dinner at the Ohtori Mansion?"

"See? We told you the way to courting Hoshimi-chan is through Mr. Ohtori!" squealed Byako, invisible but for her green dress and shoes; the remaining one's dancing about sent the folds of her blue dress fluttering out like insect wings.

"The girl might act spirited, but she is really little more than a flower in her father's palm. Soon enough, Inoue-kun, you'd become the next Mr. Ohtori, with Kaoru-kun as the Acting Chairman acting under ya!"

"Don't forget the ones who made this happen for you, okay?" chorused the invisible trio, as the whole eerie lot of them disappeared off into the ominously unlit distance.

What in the world was going on here?

Looking around, Mamiya saw that the bowls of fruit and the tableware have all vanished off the draped-covered long table; the winds picked up, blowing the drapery up and off, thus revealing the "table" to be a series of boxes . . .

. . . no, not boxes, COFFINS loaded upon flatback trolleys parked together, their wheels set upon the tracks of the very gauge railroad that his feet had remained upon even now.

With baited breath, Mamiya clasped his hands upon a coffin's heavy lid, and started pulling it to the side-

"It won't open any further, you know."

The quiet voice, coupled with the cool hand now reaching out from the coffin to clasp onto his, startled a scream from out of Mamiya . . . one that quickly died down, as the boy got a better look at the young child curled up on one side inside the coffin.

" . . . Watase?" asked Mamiya, recognizing the child genius whom Hoshimi had pointed out to him on his prior visit to the academy. "Watase Sanetoshi-kun? What are you doing in there?"

"I've always been in here," replied Watase Sanetoshi, his longish pink locks obscuring his eyes and much of his expression. "This is the box the world has crammed me into, a device to make me forget."

"Make you . . . forget?"

"Forget how I'm a chosen one. There are only two types of people in this world, you know? The ones who are chosen and the ones who aren't chosen. To not be chosen is to become nothing."

"Watase-kun . . . if this is about Inoue and his goons-"

Sanetoshi's startlingly worldly chuckle – one completely devoid of the lightness of childhood – cut Mamiya off like whip's lash. "They're nothing that I need to concern myself with. They think they're stealing my designs, but truth is I'm the one using them to construct my designs; they think they're the chosen ones, but they're nothing. The Ends of the World have since chosen me as the one to get out of the box and break the world's shell, leaving everyone else in the Fate Research to be nothing but living fuel to power the Project's mechanism." Releasing his hold on Mamiya's hand, the child genius swept aside his lengthy fringe to meet the older boy's wide eyes with his own smile-narrowed ones. "Isn't it _electrifying?_"

"The Ends of the World?"

"The one behind the Research, behind the Academy, behind the country, behind the World. You saw it too, didn't you? The un-chosen ones are all becoming increasingly transparent; soon, they'd get erased completely off the scenery of the world. People can be chosen, and they can make choices . . . it looks like the genius Professor from the other division too, had since made his choice."

"What about Professor Nemuro?" asked Mamiya, voice cold with dread.

"There is a race between the two research divisions," explained Sanetoshi, appearing deeply amused, "and only the winning side gets to become something. By choosing not to duel upon the Arena for the sake of reaching Eternity, the Professor is hindering his own research progress. Already, the Project Inspector has lost faith in the Professor's ability to give her ailing brother timely access to Eternity, and has chosen the power of the Ends of the World over the man to have her wish fulfilled."

"The power . . . of the Ends of the World . . . ?"

"The power to surpass human limitations and harness cosmic entities – the Castle, the Arena, the Hole in the Sky, the Fate Diary, all these fall under the control of human hands because of this power."

Sanetoshi paused then, as if solely to study Mamiya's expression, and the older boy knew whatever his face betrayed would be a sight to behold – his sister, a rational woman with a rational job, now is practicing _witchcraft_in their basement all because of the Academy's Research, all of because of this Ends of the World . . .

. . . was she now to abandon the Professor, who had been laboring towards them siblings' salvation against all odds; all along . . . all alone?

. . . all so her ailing brother could be kept unnaturally alive?

"It's a power to grasp Eternity, to control Fate . . . a power to _Revolutionize the World_." The pink haired child's pre-adolescent voice turned heavy with darkness that no child should possess. "Left un-chosen after having already surrendered his heart, even a brilliant man like Nemuro too shall become nothing-"

A hand, dark and slender from where it stuck out of a white lab coat sleeve, pushed the coffin lid shut, cutting off whatever Sanetoshi was about to say.

Even without glancing up, Mamiya knew that this was the entity to have led him onto the eerie railroad and all the way here; there was a red length tied around its dark small finger, and the boy realized with a start that it was the other end of the dog leash he saw on Kaoru just moments ago.

Lifting his gaze, he saw that the entity bore the form of a petite girl looking maybe a few years older than he was. With her long dark tresses pulled up in a chunky updo, and her face masked under spectacles, she would have looked like just any nondescript girl nerd around the academy, if not for her dark, exotic complexion. Her smile benignly serene, she reached inside her lab coat (which appeared to be the only thing she was wearing, in addition to her glasses and red shoes), produced an apple from which a slice had since been carved out, and showed to him the word since carved onto the fruit's crimson skin:

CHOOSE

"Mamiya!"

The urgent, familiar voice shattered the trance the boy had been in for all this time, and he found himself freezing in the windy, slush-covered courtyard where neither rail tracks nor coffins nor any lab-coat-wearing girl were in sight. A soft heaviness slammed onto his chilled bones, quickly enveloping him in much needed warmth – it took him a moment to realize it was Professor Nemuro's coat.

"Why are you out here alone at this hour? You don't even have winter clothes on . . . " Already, the man had lifted the boy up into his surprisingly strong arms. "I'll get you inside at once!"

Mamiya was shivering so badly by now voice his voice sounded inaudible to even his own cold-numbed ears. "Inoue . . . the race . . . research . . ."

"Did the student assistants do this to you?" asked the outraged Professor, jumping into conclusions as he hurriedly moved the boy back indoor. "I can't believe them . . . the bastards!"

" . . . selfish . . ." murmured the hypothermia-wrecked boy, feeling completely disoriented as the startlingly athletic Professor raced past the unlit corridors carrying him, " . . . owe it to you that the castle . . . the arena . . . opened . . ."

"Shhh," the red-faced Professor now looked to be almost in tears as he practically kicked open his office door (all those people who thought the man "computer-like" should have seen him now). Putting the coat-bundled boy down upon the chair, the Professor quickly turned up the heat as he then fumbled with the phone. "Don't worry, I'll call your sister-"

"Eternity means . . . forever," gasped Mamiya in his brittle voice, his small, cold hand clasping onto the Professor's, stopping him from dialing, "right? For years, decades, centuries, millennia, eons . . . on and on . . ." Watching the Professor's face in this frantic moment, Mamiya looked into the man's wide, unguarded eyes, taking in that pure, unmarred something shining within – that which the man often kept hidden beneath his stoic, stone-cold mannerism. "My life may be just a moment, but..." This shining, brilliant something, which his foolish sister had since left to dim in her desperation to defy fate . . . he _will_keep it burning if that was the last and only thing his failing flesh could possibly do. " . . . eternity means that this moment lasts billions of billions of years . . . without end . . ."

"Mamiya-kun . . . " The Professor looked like he was seeing the boy for the very first time; the boy, for his part, squared his jaws as he made a choice that he hoped would keep this special, brilliant man chosen and unfading; a choice that he knew, even then, could cost him his everything.

"I . . . I want eternity!"

**End Part Nine**

**Notes:**

Well . . . this chapter has taken me MUCH longer to write than I previously thought it would. Just as I feared, I now have to split the Mamiya-focused "Missing Link" into two parts, meaning that the Touga-focused Missing Link will be pushed back to Part Eleven at least . . . damn it!

The more observant reader will notice how the Nemuro/Mamiya interaction scenes deviate significantly from what was shown in the TV series. This is intentional, as viewers will remember how Mikage's precious memories have been tampered with (likely by Akio and Anthy). The events depicted in this part are my take on what actually might have happened between the characters during the Nemuro Research Era.


	10. Missing Link III

**Seinen Kakumei Utena**

Utena and Penguindrum characters belong to their various owners.

**WARNING:** Parts of this work contain **depictions of transphobia**, **controversial** shoujo fantasy **trans situation** that **in no way reflects real life trans people**, and **misogynic** magic attack leading to **forced masculinization**

**Part Ten: Missing Link III**

Time: 10 years post-revolution

Place: Chida Mansion

The group – what remained of it – was gathered together at a corner of the pristine hallway in one visibly furtive flock, clearly on edge.

"Erm . . . just what are we doing right now?" asked Shinohara Wakaba, likely feeling the urge to end the prolonged, nerve-pricking moment of wordlessness.

"We're waiting for Saionji and Nanami to come back out of that washroom, so we'd know what's going on at their end," replied Arisugawa Juri, studying the many vases of lacquered flora lining the hallway with crossed arms. Beside her, Takatsuki Shiori had her anxious gaze fixed upon the washroom's half-opened door.

"Saionji-sempai didn't even bother to close the door . . . I think it's okay if we go up and-" Juri merely glanced over at her, and already Shiori was crumbling like paper under fire. "Sorry."

"No, don't be," Juri hurriedly (and deliberately) softened her expression. "We're stuck in a magic zone in the midst of a war against the Ends of the World, where the leaders of our operation have both gone off presumably having breakdowns. We have every right to be suspicious and prying . . . but doing so will only make the situation worse." Shiori nodded, pallid-faced.

"Nanami-sama is inside crying . . ." fidgeted Tsuwabuki Mitsuru, clearly wanting to go in and check, but is wary of being stopped by the others.

"I got a quick glimpse of the inside from before," Kaoru Miki spoke up then. "The washroom looks all gross just like some run-down park toilet. That definitely does not look like it belong here."

Juri chuckled dryly as she leaned softly against the wall. "Considering everything we've already seen, a second floor park toilet actually sound fairly normal . . ."

. . . creak . . .

Turning at the sound, they saw the star-adorned bedroom door – located right beside where Juri was leaning against– opening a crack, revealing to their bewilderment a seamless expanse of starry outer space existing impossibly beyond the doorway. Hovering upon this impossible space was a lushly ornamented bed, one adorned with red canopy curtains now rippling outwards as tongues of a violent flame, with the shadowy silhouettes of a small, gathered group faintly visible from between the gaps of the vast sheets of fluttering fabrics; Chida Tokiko's voice, sounding from afar, seeped out into the hallway as tendrils of thin smoke:

". . . of the World was behind the incident; knew, but could do nothing . . . because I was only human back then."

* * *

Time: 20 + years pre-revolution

Place: Former Chida Residence

To even his own surprise, Chida Mamiya survived that infinitely surreal, eerie winter night.

Thinking back, he remembered having passed out in Nemuro's office, in the man's arms, right after his (in hindsight, overblown) proclamation of wanting eternity. By the time he was again conscious, he was already in his own bedroom back home; the sleeping robe was on its hanger, his slippers were dry and clean. For one sleep-blurred moment, he thought all that he saw and heard and said and felt were all just parts of a nonsensical nightmare.

Then he felt the cool, rotund object bumping against his side under the sheets, and pulled out, to his dread, an apple he knew to be the same one as that the dark girl gave him the night before – even though it now was completely unblemished, but for a penguin sticker marking its crimson skin.

Voices – his sister's and the Professor's – could be heard coming from the outside:

"Thank you for bringing him back safe."

"It's the least I could do. Are you sure it's a good idea not to admit him to the hospital?"

"He'll be fine. Our family doctor is a specialist who has his complete health file: I will call him over later in the afternoon to give my brother a thorough checkup."

"You sound awfully sure that Mamiya-kun's condition is going to be stable even after his bout with hypothermia, Tokiko-san."

"Nemuro-"

"Tokiko-san, I'm here to help."

A tense, prolonged moment of silence, and then . . .

" . . . you cannot help us, Nemuro-san."

"Tokikio-san-"

"The Castle, the Arena, the surreal items brought on by the neighboring section's secret research . . . you with your godly genius, surely you must've realized that such mystical things have come under the Academy's control _not_ because of research, nor any human efforts?"

"Tokiko . . ."

"You are maybe the most highly-esteemed physicist on this side of Japan. But you cannot become our savior, because you're only human."

"I-"

"The way before me has since been prepared. Where I'm treading, you cannot, must not follow. A man of your qualifications can work anywhere. So, terminate your contract with Ohtori, leave the Academy and forget everything." His sister's voice then softened deliberately, pleadingly. "Please . . . Chirikazu." That was the first time Mamiya was to hear his sister calling the Professor by his given name.

"How . . . how the hell can I just do that?!" snapped Professor Nemuro Chirikazu, clearly baffled. Then came the sound of something the boy could never have expected to hear underneath this roof - something akin to a physical scuffle, "Tok-Tokiko-san!"

"Please leave!" shouted his sister in her now startlingly harsh voice.

There were the sounds of objects knocking against hard surfaces, of porcelain vases breaking, and of Nemuro's shouting-

"I-I will grasp eternity for Mamiya-kun no matter what! Please believe me! Tokiko! Toki-"

The man's voice got cut off by the sound of the heavy front door slamming shut; a moment of silence ensued, before his sister's sobbing – ragged and largely suppressed, sounding much like how the boy remembered she had cried on the night before their parents' funeral – hung faintly audible in the thick, suddenly-suffocating air of their home.

Brittle heart thumping, Mamiya waited tensely in bed for his sister, who, mercifully, never did go into his room that morning.

* * *

Time: 10 years post-revolution

Place: Undisclosed

" . . . and that was only days before 'you-know-who' was to make his move on the Professor, to make him start that fateful fire." Exhaling, Childa Mamiya pressed the back of a hand against his weary eyes. "The Professor's memories of me were not completely off the mark – I was indeed a sinful child."

Even while making a pillow of his thin, bare arm, Ohtori Hoshimi remained facing away from the boy. "That, you were," murmured the woman-child while idly playing with his numb, eternally smallish fingers, "as was I."

* * *

Time: 20 + years pre-revolution

Place: Former Chida Residence

"Does Watase-kun decide to continue on his unrecognized collaboration with the student assistants even now?"

"Genius though he might be, he's still only a fourth grader. Having his work realized by the Research's funding is more than rewarding enough for him, however exploited he really is."

Mamiya appeared pensive as he sat up from his bed. Handing her friend his tea, Hoshimi took in the frailty of the boy's bony wrists with a light frown. Something had happened in the past couple of days, something that had the boy's health again taking a downward plunge . . . something he would not tell her about; the girl was brooding as she daintily sipped on her tea.

"Father has been strangely favorable of Inoue lately." Even as she probed deeper and deeper into the shadows of the Research for his sake, her Chida-kun now was keeping more and more things from her. "He's been hinting that I should go out with him." But why? "Father always deterred me from getting close to boys or men of common birth before." Had they not always shared intimate secrets in the past, ever since back when they were only pen pals communicating long distance? "The Inoues are hardly of high society caliber." So what was keeping them even further apart now that they were right beside each other? "I don't understand why . . ."

"That Inoue is-" Mamiya, who was on the verge of blurting out something more, jolted as he accidentally spilled hot tea upon his fingers. Hurriedly taking the cup from him, Hoshimi handed him her handkerchief, watching as the boy cleaned up.

"Inoue is . . . ?"

". . . Nevermind."

By now, Hoshimi could no longer keep her suspicion under veil. "Is there something you're not telling me, Chida-kun?"

Avoiding her gaze, Mamiya fidgeted with the now tea-stained handkerchief. "It will be okay, Ohtori-chan. As long as Inoue remains un-chosen, there's no way he can lay his filthy hands on you."

" 'Un-chosen'?"

"Nevermind. As long as Professor Nemuro is to triumph over the other division, everything will be all right. " Wincing, the boy studied his scalded fingertips. "I trust in him: the Professor will help each and every one of us; he'll make everything all right." There was a reverent glint in his doe-like eyes – a special, shining glint that the young girl once naively thought she alone could incite. "You'll see, Ohtori-chan."

"Chida-kun . . ." Like ink upon white paper, a pricking coldness started seeping into the folds of Hoshimi's once unblemished young heart, marring it irreparably.

* * *

Treading the sterilely clean interior of the research building (and enduring the wolfish gazes of the student assistants passing by carrying boxes marked by penguin motifs), Hoshimi found Mamiya's usually lady-like older sister smoking at an ill-lit, box-cluttered corner (while standing under a "NO SMOKING" sign, even) with much agitation to her body language.

"Chida Nee-san?"

"Hoshimi-chan!" Startled, Chida Tokiko then quickly stabbed out her cigarette upon one of the many penguin motif boxes piled around the corner. "I thought it's still class time."

"I skipped the final period," admitted Hoshimi, readily. "Is that an engagement ring you got, Nee-san?" The woman tensed at her question; she smirked. "Kidding. I've found out what this is; all the student assistants have one - it's the proof of a contract with the Acting Chairman." Hoshimi's voice was hushed and secretive by now. "Just what _is_ he? That everyone, even Father, readily submits to him?"

Chida-san's cast her speculative gaze upon the little girl for one unnervingly long moment; the girl, for her part, could only guess that the woman, like so many other adults, was taken aback by her precocious-ness.

". . . it's best that you don't know," she finally said, before turning away and was about to walk off.

"Chida Neesan-san," Hoshimi called after her. "I'm worried for Chida-kun." The woman stopped in her tracks.

"Hoshimi-chan . . . you like Mamiya, right?"

Chida-san's (hypothetical) question have Hoshimi hot in the face; nonetheless, she nodded.

"Um."

"If there exist a way to help Mamiya-kun live on, but that it involves hurting other people . . . would you do it?"

"Of course!" Exclaimed Hoshimi without hesitation. Appearing somewhat awed by the frank reply, Chida-san turned to face the young girl properly.

"Hoshimi-chan . . ."

"Chida-kun sees me," stated the girl, "he's the the only one who does. He knows I'm more than the hothouse flower blooming upon my father's palm, ready to be handed to whomever he choose as heir. I will keep him as my prince even if it cost me my everything . . . no," her child's voice turned husky with dark tones disproportional to her age, "even if it cost other people _their_ everything!"

Watching her, Chida-san's doe-like eyes started visibly clouding over. "Hey, now . . ."

A set of steady, evenly paced footsteps – one unexplainably distinct from those of the regular staff milling about the pace – could be heard fast approaching. Pale face frosting over, Chida-san quickly pushed the startled girl behind a high stack of boxes while signaling for her to be quiet, before stepping out of the corner to meet the approaching person.

"Akio-san," the woman's voice now was a notch higher than usual. "I thought it would be you."

"Ah, Tokiko-kun," the deep, masculine drawl of the Acting Chairman came filled with mirth. "I'm just looking for you. On what we're talking about before . . ." the rest of his sentence was no longer audible to Hoshimi, being that the two had since moved further away, while this mechanical, droning sound was starting to fill the air with its steadily increasing volume (like there was some kind of factory machinery within the research building).

Stepping out from behind the stacked boxes, the willful young girl peeked out into the hallway just in time to see the adults going into the waiting hall. She hurried after them.

" . . . are you talking about?" Chida-san's voice, again audible through that strange, mechanical droning sound, came taut with tension.

"This is your first step towards your goal," replied the Acting Chairman, sounding darkly impish somehow, "without this, the eternity you seek will not be yours."

"I don't-" And, just like that, Chida-san's sentence got cut off, presumably by whatever that had happened inside the hall.

Heart thumping in her chest as she got up to the hall entrance, Hoshimi carefully pressed her eye against the narrow gap between the closed doors . . .

And then she saw.

They were seated together upon one of those cushioned seats arrayed in the waiting hall; or rather, the Acting Chairman was seated upon the seat, while Chida-san was sitting on his lap.

Their lips were locked against each other's.

The shrill sound of what appeared to be an air horn, coming atop the now unmistakable sound of a passing train, blasted deafeningly within this indoor space; winds, strong enough to undo the ribbons tying up her hair, almost blew the petite young girl off her feet as it tore at her winter coat and dress; but Hoshimi simply could not look away from what was currently revealed to her from within the amber-still atmosphere of the waiting hall, not with the strikingly handsome Chairman now pinning her still with his penetrating gaze (he still was kissing Chida-san, even then) . . .

An eye-stinging glint of light at a corner of her vision broke the girl out of the trance she had since fallen into; it drew her gaze towards the hall exit to the side, where Professor Nemuro could be seen standing outside the half-closed doors watching the kissing duo with his glassing glinting and his posture cardboard-stiff. Something alerted the man into turning his head, before he was to quickly slip off view; there was a flash of a short, stubby something dashing past, before the half-opened exit was to again reveal nothing; sharp-eyed as ever, Hoshimi easily recognized the "stubby something" to be Mamiya bundled-up under the heavy winter coat she bought him for Christmas.

Her pen pal turned intimate friend Chida Mamiya, now sick to the point of being bedridden, had ventured out into this harsh winter _chasing_ after _Professor Nemuro_ of all people.

Young heart hurting as if stabbed, Hoshimi stumbled backwards and away from the closed doors she had been peeking through . . . and fell hard after tripping upon something bumpy. Vision blurring with tears, the girl found herself sprawled gracelessly across an extremely narrow gauge railroad – one that had seemingly appeared from out of nowhere; eyes following its tracks, she found herself glancing down the ill-lit hallway into an ominously dark area upfront, where a slight, bespectacled figure could be seen holding the handle of a flatback trolley, upon which rested a dark coffin revealing a black rose motif from underneath its white curtain coating . . .

* * *

It was only after Mamiya fell (while tripping upon a railroad that had spontaneously appeared upon the hallway's smooth floorboards) that Nemuro was to stop fleeing, as he then ran back up towards the boy, helping him up.

"Professor . . . " gasped the sickly boy in pain and exertion, his small hands clenching at the man's violet jacket.

" . . . shouldn't you be asleep right now?" asked the man, his face a stoic mask looking about to crack.

"I-I wanted to come see you, Professor." Mamiya struggled to get his words out without stuttering. "About-"

"There's no need to call me professor – I'm not worthy of the title."

"What . . . ?"

"Mamiya-kun, I've already handed in my resignation letter to the Academy, and will be leaving for my next contract soon." Nemuro's husky tenor lowered a notch. "I suppose you've come right in time for us to say goodbye."

"But . . ." Mamiya felt the air knocked out of his chest, " . . . what about Nee-san?"

Nemuro's fingertips – so delicate for those of a man - felt warm against his forehead, as the man swept the long bangs away from his eyes in an almost cherishing gesture. "Your sister has . . . hurt and surprised me." His eyes, watching Mamiya through rose-colored lens, were possibly bloodshot and definitely teary. "I . . . I need to leave, get away from this." Pulling back, the man crawled at his tousled hair with an intuitive hand that betrayed the inner turmoil underneath his wooden-seeming façade. "Meeting you and your sister has been the best thing that had ever happened to me. I don't want this to turn bitter, I don't . . ." Even as the man struggle for words to express what he meant, Mamiya could see how his features were starting to "erode" off around the edges, turning him increasingly transparent right underneath the boy's horrified gaze.

"Then, what about **_me?_**" The frantic question (or rather, demand) tore itself out of Mamiya's dry throat before the boy could force it down. "So what if Nee-san made her stupid choice to turn away? **_I _**choose **_YOU!_**" The boy knew, even then, that he was sounding desperate, unbecoming, selfish, and ugly; knew, but could not stop the hideous words from spewing forth, so strong was his despair, his desire, his fresh-revealed _want_. "I told you, didn't I? I want eternity! You're the only one who can give it to me, Nemuro-san! Don't I matter?! Am I not important enough to you to make you stay?" Hands grabbing onto Nemuro's shoulders, the boy shouted right into Nemuro's now crystalline-seeming face. "If it's for me, won't you stand on that Arena and duel for Eternity? If it's for me, won't you -" His sentence got cut off as Nemuro abruptly engulfed him in a crushing embrace that pained him to the bone.

"Ah," gasped the man, sounding much like a suffocating man who had just been pulled out from under water. "With this . . . I can go on living."

"Professor . . . ?" whimpered the boy, smothered under this painful, fiery human contact.

"I've always been alone before; I never needed anyone before I met you. Since when did that change? How did you, a child, manage to change even _me_? Why did you have to change me?"

"Prof . . ."

"It's fine now." Glasses since having slipped down his nose, Nemuro glanced down upon Mamiya with reverence akin to madness. "Even if we are to part, we'll still be together; I'll keep you here," taking the boy's cold hand in his, he placed it over his own chest, where his heart was, "where there is no space or time; I'll keep you where the world cannot tarnish my image of you, where you can live on forever in me. Never again shall I be alone, even though alone I shall be forevermore.

"Farewell, Mamiya-kun . . . my eternity."

Thinking back, Mamiya realized he must have gone into shock during Nemuro's (in hindsight, scandalously revealing) confession. Between the naked words, the blurring of his vision from tears, the pressure of the man's fingers digging into his shoulders, the chaste kiss on his forehead that felt more intimate than anything the boy had ever experienced before . . . there was no coherent recollection of when and how they were to part. By the time his mind was again coherent, the boy was already left standing cold and alone in the railway-occupied hallway, with the wooden tracks rigid beneath his feet.

"Nemuro-san . . ."

"Ruined."

Jolting at the voice, the boy turned to see Hoshimi standing to the side; with her hair disheveled, her clothing rumpled, and her pallid complexion uneven, the little lady now looked a far cry from her usually immaculate self.

"Ohtori-chan . . . what happened?" he asked.

"The coat I gave you for Christmas." Eyes on his, Hoshimi pointed at the side of his coat, which the boy only now noticed to have been ripped open, likely from back when he fell on the railway and his coat impacted some nail or the sort. "It ripped."

"Er . . ."

"Remember what you said back then?"

At the girl's quietly spoken question, Mamiya opened his mouth, shut it, and opted for silence; at the boy's reaction, what little sparkle of girlish hopefulness faded completely off the girl's blue eyes, where only glassy frostiness now remained.

"I thought so."

And, just like that, Ohtori Hoshimi turned to walk away and – as the boy knew even then – out of Childa Mamiya's life; the sight of the girl's forcedly straight back and clenched fists disappearing into the shadows of the unlit hallway stung the youngster's eyes like pins, bringing him to tears and forcing him to look away. For him to mar the very youth of his one and only friend - the very rose he had once thought he would cherish with his entirety - all because of his deceitful, revolting change of heart and nature-

Two sets of footsteps – one leisured-ly paced, the other frantic – could be heard fast approaching, along with the familiar voice of his nemesis Inoue; without thinking, Mamiya moved behind a high stack of penguin motif boxes conveniently located at a nearby corner.

"Wait! Please wait!" cried Inoue, coming into view chasing after a tall, dark-featured man whom Mamiya recognized as Acting Chairman Himemiya Akio, who was said to be deeply involved in the Research.

"You wear my ring, you've read the contract," said the man, stance powerfully assured as he stepped languidly up along the wooden rail tracks "you know the price you and your young friends are to pay should your division lose the race."

"W-We haven't lost!" Inoue yelped as he almost stumbled upon the tracks. "The Fate Train Theorem was progressing on schedule and yielding definite results up until the theft! Once we are to recover the Diary-"

"The Diary has changed ownership," said the Acting Chairman, cutting him off dismissively as he walked onwards. "I sense that another had since attuned it to their will; it is now forever lost to us because of _your_ carelessness. Your work now lies at a dead end – no longer are you able to materialize the Fate Train as per your contract to me. As it is, I have every right to enact what's in the fine print."

"NO!" Snarled the Student Assistant as he reached up to grab onto the Acting Chairman's big shoulder. Stopping, Akio turned his head to glance coolly down upon the youth, who quickly pulled back his hand as if scalded. "No . . . there is still a way to advance the Research."

"Oh?"

"Long as we have a hundred desperate souls eager to change fate, even without using the Diary, the Train still can be summoned."

At that, the Acting Chairman's lips quirked in an ironic smirk. "How certain you sound. Is that why both you and Kaoru-kun have since handed in the forms to exchange yourselves out of the Research?" Inuoe's expression now was one of bug-eyed, tongue-tied-ness. "But, whether you're officially on the Research Team is irrelevant." Grabbing the teen by his wrist, the powerfully built man pulled it up to emphasize the ring on the latter's finger. "You and your friend's contract with me stands regardless of what documents you've signed with the Academy." Inuoe's lower-lip quivered pitifully as the Acting Chairman finally was to release his grip. "That being said, there still was the unfortunate event of the 'couple' getting expelled from school once their relationship became known – even including you and your mate, the group still remains two short of a hundred."

"I-I've since secured Ohtori Hoshimi's gossipy henchwomen as research subjects – the guys are prepping them down at the lab as we speak; there is no reason that Kaoru or I need to get sacrificed too – we're useful!"

"You and Kaoru are no more 'useful' to me than the rest of the hundred if not for your bringing the brilliant Watase Sanetoshi-kun into the Research."

"But I . . . I'm going to marry Ohtori Hoshimi and become the next Chairman!" Proclaimed the self-important, self-preserving teenager. "And Kaoru-kun . . . he's dating your sister! We're not one of those disposable 'nothings' who're only meant to be fuel - we can help you for the long run!"

"Interesting." Eyes hooded, the Acting Chairman produced a compact hand calculator, which he then toyed with in a mocking, showy manner. "So there now remains only one vacant slot that needs filling." "Will it be you? Or will it be Kaoru?"

"You . . . " Voice cracking in cold dread, Inoue then quickly rambled on with the desperation of one gasping at straws. "Ah, anyone who has a direct contract with you can be used as sacrifice to advance the Research, right? Then . . . you've still got so many other people you can use, including that Inspector woman-"

"And why would you know about Tokiko-kun's dealings with me?" asked the Acting Chairman as he arched a pale brow. "Do you now finally admit that some of those bugs around the place are actually yours?"

"N-No-"

Thromp!

A careless bump against the stack he was hiding behind sent it tumbling down, leaving Mamiya now exposed to the two.

"Chida . . ." Foaming at mouth like a rabid dog, Inoue hurried up towards the boy, and dragged him painfully up towards the Acting Chairman. "Him! Here is someone who'd _NEED_ to exchange fate! Use him!" He saw how the dark, towering man now was glancing down upon him with speculative eyes.

"Exchange . . . fate . . . ?" asked Mamiya, his own voice trembling. "What kind of 'dealings' do you have with my sister?"

Sensuous lips parting in a tooth-baring grin, the Acting Chairman clasped a broad hand upon Mamiya's thin shoulder, and started glided him down another turn of the railway-lined hallway. "Come." A trail of footsteps could be heard from behind them. Turning his head, the youngster saw Inuoe fleeing frantically away in the opposite direction.

" . . . where are you taking me?" asked the boy, moving upon feet that he could not feel.

"To catch a train," replied the man, as though that explained everything.

They stopped in front of a lab door, underneath the gap of which the irrationally present railway could be seen passing right through. Producing a key, the man stabbed it into the keyhole, and turned . . .

"I'll ask again," Mamiya spoke up again, forcing himself to sound strong despite the tremor to his voice, "what kind of dealings do you have with my sister?"

"For the sake of giving you eternity, your sister had made a contract with me," replied the Acting Chairman, still opening the door, "the results of which you've already witnessed in your home basement."

"How do you-" gasped the boy in shock, before his frantic mind was to put things together. "The dark girl who drew me into the night . . . she's with you, isn't she? What are you people . . . are you even people?"

Instead of answering the boy's question, the Acting Chairman went on a different tangent as he started pulling the lab door open. "Those contracted to me gets to use my power; and I, in turn, gets to use their lives." Smiling down upon him, the man then gestured inside the lab in a grand, almost theatrical gesture. "Like this."

Looking into the lab – at the vast hall it turned out to be – the first thing the boy could make out was a dramatic impression of a familiar silhouette against a blazing white background; long limbs hanging, narrow waist arched back, twin pigtails flaring . . .

" . . . and all the world shall become _my_ stage . . ." murmured what appeared to be Byako, now suspended aerial in a pose suggesting either rapture or agony, as a crimson globe started pushing itself out of her chest like an egg being laid; once detached, the globe remained afloat upon air, while the girl then plummeted downwards like an abandoned puppet onto a moving conveyor belt . . .

. . . a puppet that _morphed_, as the stick-figured girl then rapidly broadened out into what looked like a female gender symbol – looking just like the ones commonly used in public washrooms – before the belt was to send "her" into a dump tray where a large number of similarly-shaped figures could be seen piled atop one another (the boy spotted a very familiar-looking hair ribbon on one of their head). The red globe started drifting over towards what looked like a large, uprooted tree with apples hanging on its branches, along with three red colored numbers similarly positioned upon the plant; drifting over towards the number "98", Byako's red globe merged itself over the number, where it then transformed into an apple identical-looking to those others already on the tree.

"Apple . . . " Mamiya now was lost, baffled, and chilled to the core, as memories of his recent enigmatic encounters with this particular fruit assailed his mind.

"The 'apple' is a 'penguindrum'," came a familiar child's voice – one that spoke in worldly, condescending tones, "a person's universe in its entirety."

Turning his head (and feeling a creak in his stiff neck), Mamiya saw that the speaker was indeed Watase Sanetoshi, now seated high up atop some sizable high-tech machinery – one equipped with multiple robotic arms waving about; wielding a remote, the child prodigy operated the arms such that they started stamping penguin stickers onto the fruit's crimson surfaces.

"These penguindrums are the tickets to boarding those Fate Trains running along the routes between this world and the Destination of Fate," Sanetoshi spoke on. "The Fate Train will not stop by without at least a hundred tickets gathered." Sweeping aside his longish pink fringe, he then glanced down upon the older, weaker boy with hooded eyes. "I suppose you've come just in time to witness its arrival."

Up front, a blank-faced, high-tailed girl now was slowly rising up into the air as if suspended upon invisible threads.

"Cyako!" Mamiya cried out to the older girl, who remained oblivious to his presence. "Hey, snap out of it!"

" . . . and all people shall watch me _dance~_" squealed Cyako in her high, tripped-out voice.

"And I was so hoping you'd have brought in either Inuoe or Kaoru instead," Sanetoshi whined mock-childishly at the Acting Chairman, who merely smirked darkly back at the devilish child; the boy pouted. "I know, I knoooow . . . no questioning the Ends of the World's decisions, right?"

"The Ends . . . of the World?" comprehension dawned upon Mamiya, as he now eyed the Acting Chairman in growing horror and outrage. "You, you are the one behind _everything!_" In reply, the Ends of the World offered the boy a rakish smile – one that any human being would have found dazzling, so long as they were to remain blind to the ugly truth behind the glamour.

"Are you scared?" Sanetoshi leered down upon Mamiya from where he sat above. "Don't worry, the extraction of a valuable penguindrum do require a degree of willingness on the part of the donor." Leaping agilely down, the child prodigy skipped up to the huge dump tray filled with "gender symbols", and pulled up a random "hand" to reveal a rose-motif ring merged into where the ring finger was supposed to be. "You see? All those we've sacrificed thus far have willingly entered contracts with the Ends of the World." A boyish chuckle escaped his throat. "I suppose when I put it like this, this all sounds like it has very little to do with you . . . but look," pressing the remote, he turned on the multiple screens on a wall to the side, "the last designated passenger of the Fate Train now has arrived." The screens now showed surveillance videos of the research building, with a number of which now showing a shorthaired, slender gamine carrying a stack of folders in a hand.

"Nee-san!" Mamiya cried out.

"Chida Tokiko, Project Inspector of the Research, bearer of the last of the hundred rose signets." Obviously enjoying Mamiya's alarm, Sanetoshi had one of the screens zoomed in on the ring on the latter's sister's left hand. "Putting her life on the line for the sake of changing her ailing brother's tragic fate, how very noble; but her decision to violate her contract's terms and steal away the Fate Diary shall cost her dearly. Does the woman really think she can stand up to the Ends of the World's might wielding only that?"

"What are you planning to do to Nee-san?" asked Mamiya from between his clenched, trembling teeth. Sanetoshi merely tilted his head at Cyako, who dropped down in a stack of limp limbs as her penguindrum drifted over toward the number "99" hanging on the uprooted tree; the red globe then it too became apple-shaped like its many predecessors, prior to getting stickered right as its host got dropped into the dump tray of inhuman gender symbols.

Eyes on the traumatic visuals, Mamiya could not keep from jolting at the Ends of the World's large, dark hand clamping down upon his thin shoulder.

"A contract with me, while unbreakable, is transferable," said the striking, monstrous entity in a voice like velvet. "So, suppose someone is to willingly board that train in place of your sister . . ."

". . . I understand," Mamiya managed in a voice that did not quiver; and he did understand. He was but an ailing boy powerless to brave a winter night, powerless to live beyond the season, powerless to make _him_ stay through these short, remaining days . . . he was _nothing _in face of a force powerful enough to distort time and reality.

Yet, there remained one thing that even a nothing like him could, must do.

"I, I've made my choice," proclaimed the boy, as a rose motif ring materialized on his finger. On the surveillance screens, his sister was seen studying her now ring-free left hand in puzzlement.

Jaws set in determination, Mamiya started walking up along the laid tracks, towards the elevated platform before the conveyor belt. Vaguely, he noticed some flippant whistling coming from Sanetoshi; he paid it no heed, so immersed was the boy within one particularly precious, particularly painful memory:

_"With this, you can come outside into the winter, and I can show you around the Academy, Chida-kun." _

_"Then, isn't this just like a magic cape you're giving me . . . to make me your prince?"_

_"Chida-kun . . . !"_

_"Cape accepted, Ohtori-chan."_

"Even that, could pass," muttered Mamiya, feeling his senses numbing away as gravity started losing hold upon his form, which now floated slowly, steadily upwards. "Nee-san, Nemuro-san, there's no need to look anymore," he closed his eyes in weariness, "eternity doesn't exist in this world."

"Then, could you not look beyond this here and now?"

A woman's voice, nectar-sweet and richly hypnotic, prompted the boy into opening his eyes anew. He found, to his awe, what appeared to be an earth goddess – completely naked but for the surreally lush long locks rippling about her sleekly curvy figure – hovering in space right in front of him, stunning him with her ethereal aura.

"If the heart has not given up, even you should be able to see it," said the entity, now extending a palm over his chest, "the wish in your heart igniting the ends of your world."

"You . . ." Mamiya's eyes widened in recognition at that dark, delicately shaped hand – the very one that handed him the apple. "You are-"

"_MAMIYA!_"

The gut-wrenching cry shocked the boy into turning his head. To the side, standing behind a set of railway crossing and gate blocking off the railroad (which now looked significantly broader than it did just moments ago) was Nemuro, watching the scene with wide eyes and open mouth. The Ends of the World – now carrying a burning candelabra – could be seen looming behind the petite, frantic man in all his ominous, towering presence. A rising, droning sound – not unlike that of a distant but speedily approaching train – started filling the air, as winds started picking up within the large lab hall.

"Nemuro-san . . . Nemuro-san!" Mamiya cried out at Nemuro, who appeared blind to his presence despite his having cried out the boy's name.

"Why. . . ?" The man's eyes were bloodshot with rage and trauma as he glared at the contents of the dump tray. "He's just a kid . . . he's not part of our competition!"

"Nemuro-san! I'm right here!" Mamiya shouted with all his rapidly depleting strength . . . all to no effect; Nemuro's gaze remained upon the "gender symbols" piled lifelessly about, as he spoke on as if they still are live humans capable of interacting with him.

"Just because the boy is fragile . . . what makes you people think you can just break him like this?" Long white locks now flowing unbound, with his shirt opened to reveal his dark, sharply defined torso, the Ends of the World moved the candelabra closer towards the wild-eyed man, who took the item without a second thought or look. "You . . . I'll enact all your contracts right here and now!" The railway gate blocking him went up then, and the man stepped up and towards the filled dump tray.

"Nemuro-san, what're you saying?" asked the boy, prior to gasping in shock as he saw the Professor started moving the burning item towards the eerie, dead-seeming gender symbols amidst the sound of a shrill train air horn. "Stop! Don't do this! I'm here! I'm fine-"

"Are you?"

The dark female entity's question drew Mamiya's attention up front, where he saw his own red globe since detached from his person, and now was firmly held in her upturned palm.

"Have no fear," she soothed, "for your fate differs from those down below. From now on, you will make a sanctuary of my heart; and I, in turn, shall become you."

"Become . . . me?" asked Mamiya. Smiling her benignly serene smile, the dark female kept her penetrating green eyes on his, and shoved his glowing penguindrum right into her chest.

Immediately, reality started to crumble from the boy's perspective, as he found himself falling down and flying up and shattering into pieces and coming together all at once; even his very vision – his very point of view – had changed. No longer was he looking at the dark female; rather, he now saw himself facing the other side of the lab wall, now basking under fiery lights as a pool of flames boiled from down below. There hovered in front of him a pale-haired boy with dark, exotic complexion . . . it took him a moment before he was to realize that it was his own image as reflected upon a high glass window.

"What . . ."

_'You are now me, and I am now you,'_ the female entity's voice sounded from within his own head. _'Just follow my lead now; together, we shall help him go on living.'_

"Him . . . living . . ." managed the boy, and that was all he could voice. He now found his entire body attuned to the will of another, and his many senses compounding into vast multitudes of what he could originally perceive as an ailing child dying by the day. He saw a train now running ablaze, its air horn sounding a combined cry of a million desperate mouths screeching with need; he saw, within the train's confines, ninety-six ambitious passengers who all possessed the single-minded-ness of youth; he saw an earthbound god now reaching for that train, trying to seize it, only to have it slipping right past his mighty dark fingers; he saw a trio of girlish shapes giggling over said god's failure from where they gathered as shadows upon a wall, in front of which laid a closed coffin imprisoning a dark-hearted child. Somewhere far away, he thought he heard the sound of a young princess's heart cracking, with the venom within flowing out to degenerate her into a malevolent siren . . .

There was a madman standing outside the burning building; wielding fire in his hand, he cruelly explained his reason for committing mass murder to a woman he once loved – a woman who failed in loving him enough to stop him from going mad. Beauty dimmed by guilt and despair, the woman slapped the madman (it was a slap hard enough to sent his glasses flying off), prior to running off into a starless night that enveloped her as a witch's cloak. The madman spoke on, as though the woman had never left; repeating a wordy speech about the need to sacrifice others for one's own gains with an impersonal, mechanical precision, he now appeared more clockwork machine than man:

". . . sort of sacrifice is what is always demanded. This is the first step in the job you are advancing. Soon, the road leading to eternity from this Academy will be opened . . ."

Walking up towards the madman from behind, the boy (he still was a boy, wasn't he?) clasped a hand over his, and smoothly took the candelabra from him. Speech interrupted, the madman turned towards him, and his now unmasked blue eyes widen with something between wonder and bafflement.

"You . . . "

"Shall we, 'Sempai'?" asked Mamiya, only half-understanding his own current actions and words (while fully aware that he was in control of neither), as he turned and started walking towards the shadows existing impossibly at the heart of the fire-engulfed research building.

Looking years younger in his current wide-eyed state, he who was known as genius Professor Nemuro Chirikazu now followed Mamiya with the meekness of a schoolboy, and the loyalty of a fierce guard; together, the two journeyed into the darkness at the ends of their world, within which they stayed together for what could had been, yet never was, an eternity . . .

* * *

Time: 10 years post-revolution

Place: Undisclosed

"Thinking back, you never once came by the rebuilt building through all that time I was there, Ohtori-chan," said Mamiya, doe like eyes hazy as he stared off in to space.

"What good would it do either of us if we were to play out some showy reunion under the eyes and ears of the Ends of the World?" muttered Hoshimi distractedly as she fiddled with her cell phone. "It was with stealthiness that I managed to recover your soul, and it shall be with this same stealthiness that I am to secure your new vessel for you." Closing the phone, she got up and started quickly getting dressed. "This is all for you."

"Leaving already?" he asked.

"You-know-who texted me saying that Kanae got shot down and is currently in repair, so I'll have to stand-in for her in the coming days. It won't be at least another week before I can drop by again; so, until then . . ." sweeping back the blue curls from her exquisite face, Hoshimi leaned down towards Mamiya, such that the tips of their noses touched, " . . . do grace my dreams once in a while, Chida-kun." Pulling back before the boy could land a kiss on her full lips, she turned on her heel and started walking off.

"Ohtori Hoshimi," Mamiya called after her. "When will you finally stop hiding behind this old image I had of you, and show to me your true, current self?"

Without turning around to face him, Hoshimi opened the door to the greenhouse, such that the winter air outside rushed in to chilly effects. "I don't want you seeing me as some ugly grown-up."

With that, she stepped outside and away, disappearing off Mamiya's view as the door closed itself behind her; the greenhouse's glassy exterior had since fogged over to encase the boy in the blinding whiteness of obliviation - one that he knew would last until she was to come for him again.

* * *

Time: 10 years post-revolution

Place: Chida Mansion

Underneath the starry skies existing impossibly indoor, the words flowed on . . .

"What awaited me at home was, of course, Mamiya's dead body," Tokiko's voice, weighty with pain throughout much of her recollection of the Nemuro Research, now was lead-heavy. "To me, who had since dabbled in the power of the Ends of the World, the body I saw was one that's . . . abstract."

"Like a gender symbol," S-taro spoke up with a quiver, "that's how people without their penguindrums really look like."

Tokiko lowered her lushly-lashed eyes in remembered pain. "Just like that, the brother I wanted to save, to cherish, to preserve against time . . . killed, by people to whom he meant nothing." Behind her, the bed upon which Nemuro was getting operated upon now had become a set of car repair cage and tools , with those same overflowing red canopy curtains obscuring much of the repair process now taking place inside. "I was promptly fired off Ohtori's Board of Directors; they even went so far as to deny me entry into the Acadamy. It would be a long time before I was to be strong enough to again face off against the Ends of the World – still posing as the Acting Chairman there."

"Strong . . . enough?" asked Kozue, puzzled.

"Among the files I had access to from the neighboring divisions of the Research are the 'scientific' methods for human beings to bypass the known laws of math and physics; one could say these are the spells to enact what people call magic."

"Then . . ."

"Even with the methods involved clearly laid out, it took me over two decades to strengthen my spirit enough such that I could wield the heavier spells in a stable manner. Also, certain spells require artifacts for proper projections, and those also took years for the novice I was to successfully create."

"You made Masako's laser slingshot," stated K-taro, with his voice now too grown up to match the childlike features revealed. "And Sanetoshi was the one who made those . . ." he glanced at the repair cage, where the four penguins now were busily rebuilding the damaged parts on Mikagemobile. " . . . Kiga. Of course."

Tokiko continued on. "It wasn't until ten years ago when I was finally ready to again venture into Ohtori, hoping to settle the score with the Acting Chairman. The Adversary had not aged a day even after more than twenty years had gone by in the outside world, nor his sister . . . nor did Nemuro-kun, caught in the illusion through all that time. Nor did I; me, with my static physical state preventing me from having children . . . just one of my many failings that eventually ended my marriage." She took a deep breath. "The meeting with Akio Ohtori did not result in my defeating him, but it clued me in on many things I was previously unaware of, allowing for me to get a more complete version of the story I've just revealed." Back straightening, she met the many gazes of each and every rapt listener she had – including the five who slipped in during her talking.

"I don't understand," Tsuwabuki, the youngest of the Ohtori Duelists, voiced his confusion. "From what you said, Himemiya-sempai is every bit as responsible as her brother in killing _your brother_, as well as having bewitched Mikage-sempai for all this time. How can you ally yourself with her now?"

Biting down upon her lower-lip, Tokiko turned to glance back at the Mikagemobile still in repair.

"Ten years ago, Himemiya-san reunited me with someone of utmost importance to me," she said, her voice barely above a murmur. "I'm now counting on a repeat performance from her."

**End Part Ten**


	11. Victims of Fate I

**Seinen Kakumei Utena**

Utena and Penguindrum characters belong to their various owners.

**WARNING:**Parts of this work contain depictions of transphobia, controversial shoujo fantasy trans situation that in no way reflects real life trans people, and misogynic magic attack leading to forced masculinization. This particular chapter also contains non-graphic depiction of canon child sexual abuse, so be warned.

**Part Eleven: Victims of Fate I**

**Notes**: At last, we've reached the next arc of _Seinen_, where the dramatic childhood events of the main Duelists – ones that eventually propel them into the Dueling Game – are to be revealed (and yes, Touga is finally taking center stage). I have to thank the many reviewers and supporters for this story, especially **LEDlorien7**, who actually took the time to type up essay-sized reviews (and grammar check) for each and every single part of the work since posted; all your passionate responses have make this time-consuming monster of a project totally worthwhile.

* * *

Time: 10 years post-revolution  
Place: Chida Mansion

"What . . . am I?"

Curling up at a corner of the room (just a room, not his room – he was but a guest there) like a wounded larva, the pink-haired young man clutched in his trembling hands a small, framed, black and white picture, which he was glaring down into with bloodshot eyes.

"A girl who tried being a prince, a pawn who tried being a hero, a fool who tried believing in friendship . . . I've tried hiding behind so many different facades for so many years, that I've managed to forget even my real self – now just a corpse that laid forgotten in its coffin." His pale fingers clawed at the frame's glass covering as insect legs. "The death sentence I gave myself, I've served in full . . . so why am I still not allowed to forget my _crime_from sixteen years ago?"

The picture in the frame showed a young couple, with the father holding up a pretty little girl wearing a frilly dress fit for a stage princess.

"When you get people killed, they call you a murderer. When you befriend and help someone who got your parents killed, they call you a retard. So what do they call someone who not only falls whole-heartedly in love with their parents' murderer, but is, in fact, a _partner in crime_ of the murder? Papa, Mama . . . please tell me . . ." Tenjou Utena's vision blurred with tears that fell upon the picture in crystalline, marring drops, "just what am I now?"

* * *

"I'm human; and so is he."

S-taro's reveal (coming under the stars, under the sword-sharp stares) had the gathered Duelists listening rapt.

"And we're not really little kids either - it's just that we got broiled by the Fate Transfer, and have again regressed into being unchosen children, and why we're almost transparent-"

"Why're you telling them?!" K-taro (how strange it was that only his hair and clothes had remained shade-free) cut him right off in acute outrage. "These people are connected to Kiga-"

"If they are, then they're _victims_ of those behind Kiga," S-taro tried explaining things to the fierce, distrustful brother, "just like that pink-haired prince fighting the swords . . . just like _us_! The people here all got some sort of power lighting them up from the inside, I think we can trust them to help-"

"They're not like us!" His brother pointed an accusing finger at those assembled. "Look at them - all classy and groomed and so obviously _chosen _to prosper in the scenery of the world! I bet these people just take the good life for granted!"

"Good . . .life?" asked the maroon-haired lady present in her quiet, chagrined voice; beside her, with the round-headed young woman and the doe-eyed blond preppy both were appeared equally miffed. Ignoring them, his brother went on with his tirade.

"We, who lived being punished in the shadows all along, just because-" there was a brief pause, before the boy could go on, " . . . not only will they not understand, these chosen ones from their blind world will all turn against us if they know of our background!"

"What kinda kiddie weed are you on?!" snapped Kozue Nee-san – this feisty, edgy woman so strangely eager to help them – at his distrustful brother. "If everyone here can even accept the shadow critters you are and still wanna give help, what makes you think we can't accept whatever scandalous background you're hiding from us?" Chida Nee-san put a pacifying hand upon the young woman's shoulder, and the latter made a visible effort to reign in her explosive anger. "We're asking questions because without information, we cannot help get you two reunited with your sister!"

"And we told you already – we _don't_need to be reunited with her!" His brother snapped back. "So long as she's safe on her end as a chosen one, then whatever is to happen to us don't matter! Why can't you people just-"

"Hold on." An orange-haired model – she had to be a model with her perfect beauty and posture – raised a question then. "You boys keep saying 'chosen' . . . what do you mean by that?"

"Chosen for what?" asked the blue-haired young man – who had to be Kozue Nee-san's twin judging by their uncanny resemblance – standing beside the model. "By whom?"

"Chosen to live on," answered S-taro, before his defensive brother could again open his offending mouth, "by the world."

"The . . . world?" repeated the blond preppy of the group with a haunted look in his blue eyes - an haunted look now shared by the entire assembly of people (even though Chida Nee-san appeared unsurprised). Taking in a deep breath, S-taro then began to reveal his story.

* * *

Caught together they were, the three of them; a man, a woman, her human toilet brother, locked together inside the narrow confines of the graffiti-marred partition that kept them in and reality out.

"You," voiced Saionji, upon having summoned the entirety of his shaky willpower to end the suffocating silence. "Coming back to this place, after all this time . . . " Through his talking, Touga's expression never once changed, as the man (Was he still a man?) continued to stare eeriely into his friend's eyes from where he remained submerged under water in the sinister squat toilet. ". . . no. You've never left in the first place."

While his voice had seemingly little impact on Touga, it jolted Nanami out of the teary stupor she was in. Under Saionji's cloudy gaze, the prissy lass –who had never even handled household trash in all the years he had known her - now was down on her stocking-clad knees upon the rough, stain-covered floorboards, as she reached her well-manicured hands into the flooded toilet bowl to lift her brother's head out of the water; she did not so much as back away as he started coughing water, but had instead leaned in closer patting her sibling's back to sooth his breathing.

"Onii-sama, it's okay now," assured the now disheveled blonde, in a tone suggesting that she was really trying to reassure herself. "You've helped us fought down the hate swords, so the worst is already-"

"The worst is yet to come."

Saionji's flat, deadened voice cut Nanami's sentence off with the bluntness of a bokken's strike. Ignoring the girl's seething, hate-filled glare, the man squatted down to beside her, and reached out to sweep the wet red tresses off Touga's profile to reveal the letter "w" now branded onto his left cheek.

"The worm becomes the pupa, the pupa becomes the butterfly; the butterfly flies high, falls low, and remains that very same insect though it all. Then and now, you're still the same . . . no, not just you." Looking straight into the other man's harrowing eyes, he continued on in his rasped voice. "We're all still those same coffin-trapped victims we've always been."

* * *

"The world separates its people into two groups: the ones who are chosen and the ones who aren't chosen.

"To not be chosen is to be punished as victims of the world.

"Ours is the story of those victims who gave their all trying to help each other live through their punishments."

* * *

Time: 10 years pre-revolution  
Place: Kiryuu Estate, Cabbage Field

"Like these insects breaking out of their shells, so too shall you be beautifully reborn."

Not every man could remember his moment of "birth" – the life-defining moment that made him the being he would subsequently become, voiding all that came before it.

For the little victim born amidst ashen greens and fluttering whites, that moment was forever branded into the core of his being.

"Be happy, boy - this is the day you become a Kiryuu."

The whimpering (Was that his own voice? The pitiful sound was alien to his ear . . .), the discomfort (Was that his own body? It felt so alien to his senses . . .), the lessons he learned then (Was that . . . ?), the cabbage butterflies swarming his bared skin, bared from beneath his torn clothing . . . those were things that he could _never forget_, even if he tried.

"Shhh . . . " cooed his "father" (Was that his father? Years later, thinking back, he could remember no father other than this man who "adopted" him . . .), now leering down upon him. "Don't cry. You're a boy, aren't you? You don't want people to see you crying like some sissy now, do you?" The ugly adult's smooth voice darkened a notch. "These fields, along with the surrounding areas, are all part of my estate: everyone here works for me. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

The man's calculated words compounded the painful shame that was already there eating at the boy (who was already uncomfortable enough being ordered to wear his red tresses in its girly long style). Yet, overwhelmed by the violation upon his immature body, and the pricking of insect legs upon his goose-bumps-marred skin, seven-year-old Touga could not quiet down no matter how hard he tried.

"Is this really too much for you? Then . . . perhaps I should go to your sister instead?"

At that, young Touga went dead quiet. What was he doing, fighting this man? Hadn't he since resigned himself to this fate the moment those people (their parents; well, they have nothing to do with them no) sent his little sister – barely above a toddler still – to "Father", to make sure that he'll have to _submit_?

The defilement had since begun, his innocence had since been tarnished . . . was he now to make things worse by angering this man and jeopardizing his sister's safety?

"Nanami-chan is such a lovely girl, and with such heavenly blonde tresses too. I'm sure she'd be more . . . appreciative of my loving-" and the man abruptly stopped his venomous spewing of threats.

Quashing sounds, frantic and wet, approached from afar and were getting closer. Turning his head, Touga saw through his tear-blurred, hair-veiled vision a blur of greenish colors charging towards them: wild-eyed, open mouthed and sounding what appeared to be a child's version of a battle cry. There was a much bigger man advancing rapidly from behind the small, green-colored boy charging them; in no time, that man caught up to the youngster via a vicious bokken strike against a thin shoulder. Crumbling under the blow, the boy went down in a swirl of outgrown green tresses. He was then repeatedly struck by the bokken-wielding man with such aggressive, merciless violence, that the swarming butterflies around them fluttered off in fright.

Even in the midst of his own painful, psyche-cracking abuse, Touga found himself unable to look away from the bone-chilling brutality he was currently witnessing.

"You little shit!" The man – obviously drunk upon closer look – continued beating the struggling child in a way that reminded Touga of a seal-clubbing video he once saw on the news. "I told you to stop running! I told you-"

"Saionji-san," having zipped up, the man got up and off Touga, and smiled thinly at the child-beating drunk, who paled at seeing him, "what a . . . pleasant intrusion."

"A-Ah!" The drunk called Saionji took a step back tremblingly. "Kiryuu-sama!"

The men then carried on with their civilly tense interaction, leaving the boys – one bared, one bruised, with both down on the ground – watching each other, wide-eyed.

* * *

Having slipped away from the grownups, the children now were at the ill-lit block toilet beside the field.

"You're really a boy, huh?" asked the green-haired kid, who _stared_in apparent bafflement as the two do their thing at the trough while standing; Touga rolled his eyes at the other's sheer idiocy.

"Look who's talking."

"Wha-What?!" Blushing, the green-haired kid then puffed up his thin chest in boyish defensiveness. "It's been a while since I could cut my hair, and lots of guys got wavy hair in these parts!" When Touga simply zipped up and walked off away to wash his hands, the other boy's high-pitched voice too lowered a notch. "There were all those butterflies, and I couldn't see you very well . . ."

". . . you have to cut your own hair?" asked Touga, not even bothering to look over at the other boy. Even when in a situation where they felt like they have to sell off their children for survival, those he was with had made sure he kept his hair appointments; then again, the boy supposed his appearance _was_key to his fletching a high enough price to pay off their debts.

"Father's . . . too busy with work to take me to the barber," muttered the green haired boy, now washing his own hands at the sink beside him.

"Saionji-san is Kiryuu's right hand man," said Touga, recalling what info he had gathered from the men's previous exchange. "That would take up much of his time."

A brief moment of wordlessness came up as the boys dried their hands with paper towels, and then . . .

"Did it . . . hurt?" asked the ever inquisitive green-haired boy, who just would not stop asking all the _wrong_questions.

"Look, you . . ." glaring sideways at the boy, now basked under the stale white light of the bulb above the mirrors, Touga soon found himself taken aback at finally getting a good look the state the other boy was in. "Those are some really bad wounds your father gave you."

His words had the effect of quadrupling the green-haired boy's previous defensiveness, who then pointed an accusing finger at him.

"I . . . I know what Kiyruu-sama was doing to you back then!"

Stung, Touga's entire stance tensed up.

"You . . . do?"

"I've seen my father do it to the _women_he brought . . . home . . ." The green-haired, defensive boy actually started looking remorseful halfway through his hurtful statement, but still had failed in stopping the words in time; thus the damage had since been done.

"So, you were peeping, huh?" Small fists clenched, redheaded child moved up and towards the other boy with wide, accusing blue eyes. "Thinking I'm a woman . . . were you waiting your turn, you-" He was then caught unprepared by the other boy's startling violent slap across his face – one that almost knocked him headfirst into the sink's mirror.

"I . . .! I was hiding from Father, and still came out trying to help you!" snapped the green-haired boy; though his pain, Touga noted how it was this kid who was tearing up, despite how it was _he_who just got hit.

"Why . . . was your father beating you up?" he asked, even while knowing it will pain the other boy; it did.

"Well, why was _your_father doing . . . what he did?"

"Cause he likes doing it."

Touga's casually given answer washed the reflexive spite off the other boy's expression, replacing it with harrowing bleakness.

"Kiryuu-sama adopted me just so he can do that to me whenever he wants," the redhead continued on, "and he adopted my sister too just so he can have a hostage to better control. I think the old man's playing things too safe – if he can _fuck_me out in the open in broad daylight – what chance does a kid like me have of defying him here?" Pause. "Why was your father beating you up?"

". . . cause he likes doing it," muttered the green-haired boy, now hanging his head.

"That . . . was your real father, right?"

"Yep."

Nodding, if only to himself, Touga stepped up with his watered paper towel, and pressed it against a bleeding cut on the boy's now tear-streaked cheek. The boy flinched, and Touga held him by the chin.

"Hold still," he commanded, precociously, prior to deliberately softening his voice. "The cut will fester if you don't keep it clean."

Dodging his gaze at first, it took a while before the green-haired boy could meet his eye; and when he did, Touga found himself studying the subtle range of shades within those lushly-lashed emerald greens, intrigued.

"It feels like it's only now that I could really see you," murmured the kid, the blush on his cheek making Touga conscious of the heat that now must be coloring his own face. "I'm Saionji Kyouichi."

Resigned, the redhead thought he might as well introduce himself too. "Touga; Kiryuu Touga now."

"I think . . . we'll be seeing each other around now," said Kyouichi, a hesitant grin broadening his lips; resisting a sudden urge to pinch the other boy on his bruised but still comely cheek, Touga glanced awkwardly off and away.

"Ah."

* * *

Time: 10 years post-revolution  
Place: Chida Mansion

"We were children who got broiled down into nothing . . . but most children in this world are just like us – ignored by some, exploited by many . . . forever punished for the crimes of others.

"And, it's children like us, who have nothing, who bond fast – because companionship is the only thing that can make life's punishments worth living.

"That's how this guy becomes my brother, and how we got our sister; it's how the three of us became family."

"Became . . . family?" repeated Kozue, visibly perplexed by what was revealed. "Then . . . you guys ain't really-"

"I'm Shouma," the blue-haired entity – now largely visible as an elementary school boy in a nondescript gym uniform - took a step up towards his audience. "Takakura Shouma."

Letting out a deep sigh, the reddish-brown haired one then followed suit. "Born Natsume Kanba, now Takakura Kanba; we're children of Takakura Kenzan and Chiemi."

Jolting, the now alarmed-looking Shouma tugged urgently on the other boy's sleeve. He was promptly shrugged off.

"What? You said we can trust them to help us, right? So what's wrong with telling them who we _really_are?"

"Kanba . . . !"

"Kenzan . . . Takakura?" Miki's eyes widened in alarm as his voice got higher. "You don't mean that famous Ohtori alumnus, who . . . "

"That's him." Standing beside shame-faced, hand-hanging Shouma, Kanba kept his chin lifted high in defiance. "We, are children of the terrorists involved in the Kiga Subway Attack."

* * *

**End Part Eleven**


	12. Victims of Fate II

**Seinen Kakumei Utena**

Utena and Penguindrum characters belong to their various owners.

**WARNING:**Parts of this work contain depictions of transphobia, controversial shoujo fantasy trans situation that in no way reflects real life trans people, and misogynic magic attack leading to forced masculinization. This particular chapter also contains non-graphic depiction of child sexual abuse, so be warned.

**Part Twelve: Victims of Fate II**

* * *

Time: 10 years post-revolution  
Place: Chida Mansion

"Takakura Kenzan; right hand man of Kiga Leader Watase Sanetoshi, and a key figure in the Kiga Subway Attack from sixteen years ago. After Watase perished in the event, Takakura had continued to run the Kiga Group as replacement leader, up till when the police raided the group, and he and his wife Chiemi went into hiding.

"None of the sources ever mentioned that the Takakuras have any children in the first place. The search for 'Takaura Himari' came up with nothing, either.

"And, while there was indeed a late member of the influential Natsume Family being involved in Kiga, he apparently only had two children, the elder of whom, Natsume Masako, is now the young heiress of Natsume Corporation.

"There is no mention of her having any twin brother to begin with," concluded Tsuwabuki, looking up from where he was net surfing via his smartphone, and at the self-proclaimed Takakura brothers – both of whom now shade-free and visible even under the starry night sky.

"There is no way you'd find any info on us in this world," muttered Shouma, crestfallen, "because this isn't really our world, but rather . . ."

"An alternate reality you Children of Fate created by offering up the penguindrum – your lives – to enact the Fate Transfer," stated Tokiko, apparently well-versed with the workings of such magic. "The more one changes the existing fate – riding the Fate Train, powered by the Diary's spell – the worse the backslash will be. Rejection by the new world – getting burned, becoming non-existent – is punishment incurred for having destroyed the old one, your ages being halved is also an extension of-."

"Hold it," Wakaba cut in with a raised hand, "this massive info block needs to get broken down before we can understand any of it! You," she pointed at the Takakura siblings, "you two are really _adoptive_ brothers: Takakura Shouma, son of Takakura Kenzan, and Takakura Kanba, brother of rich heiress Natsume Masako." Both boys glanced away and to the sides. "Back in this 'original world', the two of you, along with your sister Takakura Himari, had all inherited the bad karma accumulated from your parents' terrorist acts – especially the Kiga Subway Attack. Himari, like Kanba, is adopted; unlike Kanba, her biological parents had no ties to the Kiga Group; yet, out of you three, innocent Himari was the one who got 'punished' by a terminal illness; not only that, but she also got possessed by the ghost of Oginome Momoka, a victim of the Subway Attack _and_Chida-san's cousin's daughter . . ." she turned towards Tokiko, ". . . who apparently has magical powers both before and after she died?"

"What we call magic is basically people manipulating the various elements of the world through willpower alone," explained the veteran witch, "with a sufficiently strong will, even a complete novice can enact at least partial magic. What we call artifacts are objects that magnify the human willpower. Ohtori Academy is equipped with such artifacts at various spots, and the Fate Train itself is the physical manifestation of nature's artifact; the Ends of the World picked both the Duelists and the Children of Fate on the basis of their having exceptionally strong wills," her voice turned brittle with old grief, "though none present - not even myself – can compare with Momoka-chan when it comes to sheer willpower . . ."

"It says here that Oginome Momoka died at the age of ten, sixteen years ago; so when you say she could use magic . . ."

"Momoka-chan was only eight when she basically seized ownership of the Fate Diary from me. Even at that age, the girl had willpower enough to get burned for what she believed in . . ."

"Okay, back on track," worried that the conversation would go off course, Wakaba hurriedly continued on with summarizing the fantastical story since revealed. "Momoka's ghost told the boys the only way to save Himari was to get the 'penguindrum' – without telling what the thing really was. It is while hunting around for the mystery item that the Takakuras met and befriended Momoko's sister Oginome Ringo, who inherited the Fate Diary from her late sister. At the same time, the ghost of Kiga Leader Watase Sanetoshi – involved with Ohtori, and had retained his magical powers even in death – approached you siblings under the guise of Himari's doctor. Sanetoshi then coerced Kanba," she pointed at the baleful child, "who needed money to pay Himari's medical bills, into helping a remnant fraction of the Kiga group with acts of terrorism, which lead up to Subway Attack Take Two. Prompted by Momoka's ghost, Shouma boarded the train under Kiga's attack - which Kanba and Sanetoshi's ghost were also on – trying to stop everything. With both Momoka's and Sanetoshi's ghosts present, the normal train got superimposed by the 'Fate Trains' – a fate altering 'cosmic force' that Ohtori has been trying to harness since over thirty years ago - and its nature as an artifact magnified the Takakura brothers' willpowers, to the point that they could actually extract the essences of their own lives - the 'penguindrum' – as per Momoka's request. Offering up their penguindrum, the boys used it to enact a "Fate Transfer", which basically means "destroying" the original world and putting a new one in place; our world, where Subway Attack Take Two never happened a few weeks ago, where Himari is healthy and has family, where all your previously tormented friends are now in happier situations. Yet, neither of you exist in this new world you've given up your lives to create, and even your current insubstantial 'transparent selves' are at risk of fading completely away." Out of breath, the flush-faced young woman paused to gulp for air. "Okay, I think I kinda get the gist of it now."

"You skipped over the part where Ringo and Himari were also there on that Fate Train, offering up their own lives trying to save us and everyone," Shouma's voice was husky with memories. "Other than that . . . yeah." From beside him, Kanba exhaled raggedly, but said nothing. The Duelists all regarded the miserable Children of Fate – whose folly closely paralleled that of their youth – with heavy-hearted empathy.

"The chicks who smashed their world's shell . . . huh?" murmured Kozue, blue eyes clouding over with old ghosts; watching her, Miki's mouth had tightened into a flat, horizontal line.

* * *

Time: 8 years pre-revolution  
Place: Outskirts of Kiryuu Estate

"They're breaking out! They're breaking out!"

"Geez, you get so excited . . ."

Eyes wide, the boys watched as the many new-formed butterflies infesting the plants started unfurling their wings with the languidness of coral polyps. Cheering aloud, the flush-faced Kyouichi then grabbed Touga into a bear hug – one that the latter only struggled half-heartedly against, as he kept his impassive eyes upon the emerging insects.

_It can be said that the butterfly never existed before the chrysalis broke._

Much later, as the two were treading home together under the sunset . . .

"Man, it's so cool that the kendo dojo right next town is giving classes to beginners," said Kyouichi, merrily pushing their tandem bike – loaded with both their backpacks – along the unpaved, shrub-flanked path connecting the towns. "Now we both have an excuse to stay away from home more!"

"Ba-ka," Touga, empty-handed yet also less cheerful, kicked at the pebbles on the ground, "what good is it if we still got to go back every night?"

"I wish moments like this can last forever." Smiling still, Kyouichi's face nonetheless showed growing wistfulness. "We don't ever have to see our fathers again." From beside him, Touga calmly observed how the boy's knuckles had whitened against the bike's handles – his friend has always been most adamant about walking the bike instead of riding it on their way back.

"I've stopped wishing for anything since."

"Since . . . ?"

"Kyouchi, do you think the butterfly can remember how it was like as a caterpillar?"

"Huh?"

"I can't remember how it was like before I got here," admitted the precocious redhead, "not my old life, not my old home . . . not even that couple's face." Even now, he could not think of them as his "real" parents, in spite of worldly conventions. "I can't remember anything before that day at the cabbage field . . . before you." There was a grimmer of something in Kyouichi's eyes that had him quickly looking away. "When things change completely, when even the scenery changes, it's almost like . . . a revolution."

"Yeah . . ." agreed his young friend, sounding more pensive than usual. "It's been almost two years since you and you sister got . . .adopted. Is Nanami-chan doing okay at the Kiryuu household?"

"She's okay," muttered Touga. "She thinks they're our real parents."

"Then at least Kiryuu is still leaving her untouched."

"At least there's tha-"

Peals of girlish laughter alerted the boys into quieting down. A visibly happy couple was coming onto the path from a side road, with their lushly-groomed young daughter – currently piggybacking upon her father's broad shoulders – currently generating the jubilant sound.

". . . and everyone in class agree I'm the best choice to play the princess in the school play, cause I'm the prettiest!"

"Pumpkin, just because you're pretty, it's not nice to brag -."

"I'm not bragging – I'm proud! I'm pretty because I got papa's blue eyes and mama's pink hair! And when I get older, I'll become a beautiful model just like Mama for sure! Now, Mama; for my princess costume, I need this Sebastian Dior Baby Tiara – it has real crystal, not the cheap-looking plastic you see on little girl toys . . ."

"Oh, this daughter of yours . . ."

It was only after the merry family had passed them, when he found himself still glaring after their departing silhouettes, that Touga could truly comprehend just how much he _hated_ that irrelevant little girl; no, not because of her foolish childishness, but rather, her being cherished, protected, _and_loved. Why did the world choose kids like her to give loving parents to, while leaving him and his friend and god knows how many others as defenseless preys to predatory adults-

"Kinda reminds you of Nanami-chan, doesn't she?"

Kyouichi's question hit Touga like a bucket of ice, cooling the boy's rage and leaving him with a gut-wrenching feeling that some years later, he would recognize as despair; his poor sister, a mere hostage whose well-being was reliant upon his staying in their pedophile "father's" favor . . . how could she possibly compare with that blessed pink-haired brat?

"So bubbly and energetic, and determined . . . I bet she's also a type-B too." Insensitive as always, his simpleton friend – sounding down somehow – continued on in this undesired tangent. "Just now, I saw you watching her . . ."

". . . with this scary look in your eyes."

Turning at the voice, the boys saw the pink-haired girl from before walking up towards them . . . no, it was not her. This one is older, less flashily dressed, and definitely more mature of character. Her left arm was entirely covered in bandages, and her right hand held a large pink book: one with two stylized dragons, along with the word "Diary" on the front cover.

"Are you hurt? In Pain? Unloved?" asked this new girl, her amber eyes – neither blue nor foolish like those of the other one – glinting enigmatically under the late afternoon sun. "I can help you if you want to." Her gazed then trailed off Touga and towards the bruises (barely) revealed under Saionji's rolled up short sleeve. "The both of you."

Pretty face paling, Kyouichi quickly rolled his sleeves back down. "You . . . You don't know what you're talking about!"

"Don't I?" asked . . . or rather, countered the strangely knowing girl. Getting over his bafflement, Touga stepped up to beside his now trembling friend.

"You're just a kid. What makes you think you can help us?" He made a point of eyeing her bandaged arm. "You look like you need help yourself."

"Uh uh." Unfazed, the girl held up her bandaged arm like she was showing off a badge. "These burns are the price I willingly pay to claim ownership to this magical artifact."

"Magical . . . artifact?" asked Touga, not quite prepared for the peculiar turn the conversation was headed.

"I have, under my ownership, the magical Fate Diary," explained the girl, whose mature voice and manner contrasted her childish words to eerie effects. "Written in this diary are the magic spells that can change the scenery of the world, and with it, the fates of the people inhabiting the scenery."

"What're you, a witch?" snipped Kyouichi, obviously still displeased over the girl pointing out his being abused.

"I wonder," mused the strange girl, taking no offence. "Women, men, children . . . even animals, I can change all their fates just by reciting the Diary's magic spells. And when it's done, no one else but me will know anything has been changed," she took a further step up towards the perplexed boys, "you'd both escape your bad fates without anyone knowing-"

"Momoka-chan!"

A delicately slender woman – looking elegant still despite how her left arm was also similarly bandaged like the girl called Momoka – came hurrying up towards them.

"Auntie . . ."

"You can't just run off from the clinic!" The aunt (who would look much younger if not for her conservative hat and stiffly styled waves) appeared to have a hard time running while wounded and on high heels (the unpaved, grass-matted path probably made it worse), and was breathing raggedly by the time she reached the girl. "Your burns are serious. . ." Her eyes widened in fright at seeing the pink diary in the girl's hand. "The Diary . . . "

"Sorry, Auntie," Momoka girl hung her head. "I wasn't able to bring back Uncle Mamiya after all. The backslash-"

"Stupid!" This aunt berated the girl with a harshness that distorted her otherwise sweet voice. "Nobody asked you to do that for me! You're just a child! A child! You're not supposed to have to burn-" She forcibly stopped her tirade, having noticed the wide-eyed boys present. "Momoka-chan," deliberately softening her expression, the woman reached for the pink diary, "you have to give that back . . ." The girl deftly moved it out of her reach.

"No."

"No . . . ?"

"The Diary has since changed ownership – it is not your burning stake any more; it's mine now."

"Momoka . . . !"

"It's okay now." Smiling up at her aunt, the girl's small face now appeared aglow with something divine. "You can't withstand the Diary's flames without the Devil's Ring, can you? But I, I'm not afraid of getting burned to change the world for the better. From now on, I'll take the world's punishment in your place for the sake of its people."

As an onlooker, Touga found this Momoka girl's current expression to mirror that of a portrait of Joan of Arc he once saw on TV; years later, he could recognize the expression as one of strength and nobility.

"Don't say such stupid things . . ." whimpered the now defeated-seeming aunt, a tear tracking past the beauty mark beside her attractively curved lips. "Either way, you're _not_using the Diary while still wounded."

"But these boys-"

"You can't help everyone," stated the aunt, already ushering the little girl off and away. "No one can. We're going back to the clinic, where they'd transfer you to a hospital closer to your home . . ."

"Crazies," muttered Kyouichi once those two were out of sight, before turning back to his friend. "Say, Touga, your birthday party is coming right up. I wanted to come, but Father said we're not going . . ."

Mind back upon his own issues, Touga's expression darkened along with the dimming skies above. "Unless you want to join in the after party, there's really no point in coming."

"After party . . ." Kyouichi appeared blank, before comprehension dawned upon his reddening face. "They . . ."

"Even the top dogs need to network with other top dogs," the redhead was now as sullen as he was self-conscious. "I suppose Kiryuu thinks I'm adequate entertainment for their fine gathering."

"What're you gonna do?"

"I don't know; maybe wait for some magical witch to come change my fate?"

Green eyes clouding over, Kyouichi reached out to grab a handful of Touga's red tresses; the latter remained impassive to the touch.

"The grownups all like that hair of yours," murmured the young boy, his pained, husky tone making him sound a lot older in that instant. "What if you cut it off?"

Downcast, Touga's voice dropped to a brittle whisper. "If the Kiryuus think I'm disobedient, they'd turn on Nanami."

"Then . . . what if you have to get it cut because of some accident?" asked Kyouichi, gesturing up ahead at the wild shrubs, with their outgrown branches eating into the path.

Happy to see evidence of functional brain cells still thriving underneath his (oftentimes gullible) friend's thick skull, Touga's mood lightened as he practically leaped onto their bike's front seat; Kyouichi was already at the back, lithe arms latching onto his waist with as much eagerness as he himself currently felt.

"Ready . . . set . . . _GO!_"

* * *

"It's regretful that such beautiful hair has to get cut."

"Yes."

"For this to happen right before the party . . . "

"Can't be helped."

"I suppose not." Sighed Kiryuu, his crow-lined eyes scanning over the crowded, ornamented party hall, in a purposeful way that alarmed his "son" (currently made to sit upon a throne-grand chair that served to better display his lithe built to the attendees). "Thorny bushes on the shortcut connecting the towns . . . wasn't Saionji's son with you back then?"

"It was an accide-" Touga blurted out . . . prior to quickly quieting down. But it was too late: he gave himself away.

"Was it?" asked, or rather, pressed the cunning adult. The tainted child, still very green, struggled to act innocent.

"Papa," he stressed the word (despite the nausea it brought him), hoping to pacify the man. "The bike went under the branches, and my hair got tangled in it-"

"Happy Birthday, Touga-sama," said a leering man – one of Kiryuu Papa's innumerable business partners - leaning down to purr in his ear; Up front, some woman – likely his mistress judging by their age difference – was down on one smiling up at him, catlike.

"Happy Birthday."

Cornered, Touga could do little but hide behind his impassive façade while groaning inwardly: the haircut was fast turning out to be just as useless as the one who suggested it; stupid, stupid Kyouichi . . . he could only pray that Kiryuu Papa won't do something too bad to the dumb kid, now that he knew. Kyouichi's father Saionji was Kiryuu's right hand man, so maybe he would get spared-

"Onii-sama."

Blinking, he now saw an alarmingly disheveled Nanami standing in front of him. On reflex, Touga sent a suspicious glare cutting at Kiryuu Papa, but found – to his surprise and relief – the often assured man now recoiling in shock and fear.

"Happy Birthday," said his little sister, holding out in her hands a dirty white box.  
Before the boy could ask her what was going on, Kiryuu Papa's wife-of-convenience (whom they had to call Mama) had since cut in with her imperious voice.

"Nanami, why do you look like that?"

"This is for Onii-sama," replied Nanami, as a wild kitten popped its head out from the box.

A strangled-noise could be heard coming from Kiryuu Papa's tight throat, piquing Touga's interest. Could the man be afraid – or better yet, allergic – of cats?

Kiryuu Mama probably knew more than he did about Kiryuu's cat phobia. "Feh, what a dirty looking thing. Get it out of here!"

Nanami pouted. "But, Mama . . ."

Steering himself, Kiryuu-san put up a shaky brave front as he advanced upon the little girl, who started backing away.

"Give it to me."

"No!"

Face reddening, Kiryuu now was trying to brutishly pull the box away from Nanami. Alerted, Touga got up to interfere. "Wait a minute."

The man looked like he would have likely struck the boy, so angry did he seem then, but the fact that they were surrounded by "classy" guests hindered his violence.

"Now, Touga-"

"It's been a while, Kiryuu-san."

The womanly alto – coming languidly from some distance away, yet still was effective in cutting smoothly through the droning whispers of the gathered guests – stilled Kiryuu Papa.

"Hoshimi-chan . . . I mean, Mrs. Ohtori."

Cutting a tall, shapely figure from where she stood at the door to the hall, this Mrs. Ohtori Hoshimi was fair-complexioned to the point that all other women present were rendered dowdy shadows against her luminous glamour; the slinky black gown - one matched by a semi-lucent shawl covered in red rose petals – was also of classier style than the puffed dresses of those others. There was this white-suited, pale pink-haired young man smiling rakishly by her side: even then, Touga knew that could not possibly have been Mr. Ohtori.

"I have something to discuss with you," she said, making no effort to take even one further step into the hall. Tensely nervous somehow, the usually haughty Kiryuus now humbly made their way over to greet her, forgetting the kids.

"Onii-sama . . ." Nanami called out to Touga, again offering up the messy boxed kitten with glints of uncertainty within her teary eyes. Chest warmed by relief, the immaculately-groomed boy put his hands upon his dust-covered sibling.

"Thank you, Nanami," he said, kissing away his sister's tears. "This is the best present I ever got." The girl – who must have been through quite the scuffle trying to get him that kitten – trembled joyfully in his arms. "Now, go get yourself cleaned up and call it a night." He gestured for a waiting maid to come over and take the now dreamy-eyed child away.

Relaxed – as he was no longer under pressure to "pull train" from Kiryuu Papa – the boy was just about to call it quits too, when the "ladies' " gossiping caught his attention:

"That's Ohtori Hoshimi, the clan heiress, right? I see she's again out partying with these club host types."

"With her husband the current Ohtori Chairman getting continuously spotted around both pink salons and saunas, who can blame her?"

" 'To each their prowl', huh?"

"But she _is_decked to the nines . . .who knew that a boarding school could make for such lucrative business?"

"Don't you know? The Ohtoris have been making waves at the financial district with their heavy-handed investing. On the academy side of things, I heard even the Prime Minister had paid a fortune to get his mistress' bastard son into the Academy . . ."

"Happy birthday, Touga-kun."

Jolting out of a trance that he had somehow fallen into, Touga turned to see Mrs. Ohtori standing right beside him, smiling down.

"In case you're wondering, you're no longer expected to attend the after party," the "matron" – looking startlingly young up close despite her heavy-handed makeup and hairstyle – tilted the champagne glass in her hand at the pink-haired man she brought, who now was socializing with the lustful crowd gathered at the side hall (with the Kiryuus amongst the gathering). "Sanetoshi-kun has since replaced you as the 'entertainment'."

"Who are you?" the boy could not help but ask.

"Someone with power enough to bring change."

"Power . . . to bring change?"

"With enough power, anything becomes possible" explained the woman, as an impossible change started coming over her, making her less glamorous, yet also more exquisite; less tall, yet also more lithe. "With enough power, you can free yourself and your sister from this fate; you can even help your friend change his." In no time at all, the transformation was complete, and in place of the sultry siren stood a dew-fresh young girl – her near-nakedness ethereal against the shawl that now adorned her as a nymph's wings - beaming at the awed boy. "It would be like a _revolution_."

"How'd you . . . know? How-"

"The Devil who reigns in the absence of God knows the whole of this world. The witches who works for him know what he knows."

"You're . . . a witch?" Touga thought back to the strange girl and aunt he and Kyouichi had previously encountered. Could this "witch" – one who had just proven her power – be the salvation he had stopped hoping for since long ago?

The now barely dressed, barely adolescent Mrs. Ohtori observed the boy with impish, knowing eyes. "Like I thought, you're not scared; instead, you want my power, and want to be like me – a witch who wields the Devil's power."

"I'm a boy," said Touga, actually sounding dejected.

"Boy." Tittered the "young" witch, as she gestured at the young man (Sanetoshi) she brought with a small hand. "Observe that boy over there: even though he calls himself a magician, he's really the Devil's witch . . . down to the naughty details." Her girlishly sweet voice darkened with un-childlike cynicism. "So long as they surrender their bodies to the Devil and his cause, even boys can become witches," her eyes upon him were as wells to drown in, "yes, even you."

"Surrender the body . . ." pondered Touga, anxious yet uncertain. Naturally red lips curling, the "little" Ohtori Hoshimi stepped up closer to the boy, and pressed her slight frame against his.

"You, who're already early marred, might as well also be early made; it was like this for me too."

"You . . . too?"

The shadows upon the wall facing them started to sharpen and swirl, before quickly reshaping into that of humanoid silhouettes: two men - one bulkier than the other – together held down a violently struggling young girl, whom they were obviously assaulting.

The young girl's silhouette was distinctively recognizable as that of young Hoshimi.

"It was my father who allowed for that to happen," the witch's voice gradually deepened from against his ear, "to force me to forget a past love and marry the one he chose. Unfortunate? Yes . . . but it got me into the Devil's embrace, within which I've thrived until this very day."

There was a brief shifting of the lights, after which the shadow play rape was gone – along with "young Hoshimi", who now was again the tall, champagne sipping Mrs. Ohtori. Putting down her glass, she then held out a white, rose-motif-marked folder envelope to the dazed boy.

"This envelop is you birthday present from the Devil himself. Should you ever want to defy fate, then open it.

"With your friend and sister's well being to consider along with your own, I suppose you have no choice but to go with this change.

"The way before you has been prepared."

Giving the folder to the pale-faced boy, the society matron then stepped off and away into the side hall, where she then joined the amoral, lustful gathering of powerful adults – some of whom already openly groping the pretty young man called Sanetoshi, whose shirt has since been unbuttoned past his navel . . .

Left alone, the boy quietly left the debauched party and went back into the privacy of his room, where he then began checking out the contents of the witch-given folder.

* * *

The next morning, at the front gates of Saionji Mansion . . .

"You say he's at the town clinic?!" gasped Touga, almost falling off his tandem bike at the news.

"Oh, it was terrible, Touga-sama!" Sighed the servant greeting him. "Kyouichi-kun got accosted by some strange men out in the bike trail last evening, and it seemed like they just mugged the poor boy for no reason . . . "

Of course there was a reason for the mugging – to him, it was clear as day.

Having then hurried over to the clinic, Touga found, to his initial relief, his friend appearing not significantly more bruised than usual – in fact, Kyouichi could apparently sit upright upon his bed by himself. His heart soon sank, however, upon noticing the boy's badly chopped green hair.

"Kyouichi," the usually assured boy now had to gulp before going on, "I heard you got . . . mugged,"

"Mugged," muttered his friend, blearily, "I guess that's what Father wants everyone to think, huh?"

". . . Kyouich!"

"Kiryuu's hired hands could've just done the dirty with me and be over with it, but instead they had to cut my hair too . . . just so I'd know who was behind this, and why this happened."

"They . . . you . . ." Touga could hear his heart pounding in his rapidly numbing head; to think that _this_happened just because Kyouichi had tried helping him . . .

"It's okay; if you can take it, then so can I," said Kyouichi, actually smiling a bit. "Better this, than to keep falling behind you in everything-" The rest of his sentence got cut off, as Touga then enveloped him in a tight, desperate hug. "Hey . . ."

Is this to be their life? To get continuously trampled upon by those monstrous adults just for their being powerless children?

"Touga . . . are you crying?"

"No." Small face drawing tight, Touga pulled back away from his friend to stand with his back rigidly straight. "Something like this will not happen again."

And he turned to leave, before the startled Kyouichi could even ask him what was going on; then again, he had something much more important to do than to commiserate with his friend and fellow victim.

He had decided to give the Devil's witch his reply.

* * *

Mrs. Ohtori (whose glamour remained flawless even under daylight) was, of course, right outside the clinic; Touga thought it likely that a witch of her caliber could channel his thoughts directly, and thus spontaneously appear to wherever he was to finalize his decision.

"So you accept the Devil's present . . . or rather, invitation."

"Yes."

"Then you, your friend, and your sister will all be attending Ohtori Academy in two years' time. The Devil takes care of his own, so Kiryuu and Saionji will both receive warnings to keep their hands off the three of you starting this moment. As the Chairman's wife and the Devil's witch, I look forward to seeing you roam our unholy playground . . . witch." Adjusting the shoulder strap of her understatedly classy handbag, the enigmatic woman – who could apparently turn back to a young girl at will – turned and started walking off.

"Mrs. Ohtori,"

"Yes?"

"Thank you," said the jaded boy, with perhaps one of his last few scraps of sincerity, "for changing our fates."

"Save your thanks for the Devil, and your curses too," replied the woman. "You'd be sure to curse this day at the point when you got shown the ends of your world."

"I won't," insisted the boy. "Any change from now will be a revolutionary thing for all three of us."

"Revolution . . ." murmured the woman, stopping in her tracks. "Say, there is maybe this one thing you can do for me."

That surprised Touga. "What is it?"

"At Ohtori, you'll meet a pair of twins around your sister's age: one boy, one girl. You will see that they have hair the same shade as mine. There will be times when . . . when you'll think you have to hurt them to get what you want." Her husky voice dropped to a whisper. "Don't hurt them too much, that's all I ask." With that, she stepped briskly into a waiting cab, and was driven off and away.

"Twins . . . huh?" mused the boy who just became a witch; whose way – along with those of his friend and sister – had just been set and prepared.

* * *

Time: 10 years post-revolution  
Place: Chida Mansion

"There, I've found what should be our Oginome Ringo's online diary," said Miki, now with all the other Duelists huddled against him and his tablet. "It's friends-only."

"Hack it," prompted Kozue. "I know you can."

"Kozue-" Miki frowned, and was cut at by his twin's glare.

"I've seen you done worse things for way more selfish reasons. Do it now."

"I'll do it!" Tsuwabuki quickly seized the tablet in an obvious attempt to defuse the Kaorus' tension. It took him but a few minutes to get successfully logged in. "Done . . . okay, it really is this Ringo girl's diary." The blond squinted his eyes at the small, pale font used. "She mentions here about befriending a girl called Himari during a minor accident at the Tokyo Subway. But this Himari's family name is Ikebe-"

"That's her," said Kanba, eagerness showing through his coolly impassive front. "She's using our uncle's family name in this reality."

"We made it so that Himari and Ringo will still have each other as friends," explained Shouma, fidgeting uncomfortably beside his brother, "even though neither would remember anything about what happened in our original world."

Tsuwabuki cleared his throat, before reading off the entries. "Entry 320: 'It's been a few days since Himari-chan and I discovered that paper note sticking out of the teddy's tummy – the one written by someone claiming to be her brother. Even knowing that she is an only child, something about that note – that terrible yet familiar-looking handwriting – had made this strange impact on not just her heart, but also mine. This is just as strange as our lack of memory about the accident on the subway train – it's the fate event that brought about our meeting, after all; we should remember . . . we should.

"Entry 321: If the same dream repeats, night after night, identical and endless . . . does that make it more real? Every night, I dream about being burned alive inside a subway train. I should've burned into ashes, into nothing, but this boy shielded me with his body, and took the punishing flames for me; he told me he loved me before I heard a sound like train cars unhooking, and he was gone, along with the flames, the dream, everything. Was that me subconsciously thinking back to the subway accident? I know that Himari-chan was there, but there was no boy involved . . . was there? I can never remember his face after waking up. To think there were no witnesses coming forth after an accident in such a crowded place, it's kinda scary."

A tear escaped Shouma's eye; it was gently dried off by Tokiko's silk handkerchief.

"Entry 322: It' worrying how Himari-chan has become prone to sudden crying fits – she keeps saying she can't understand why she can't remember who her "brother" is."

Both Takakuras appeared alarmed at hearing that. No longer able to remain standoffish, the boys got up over towards Tsuwabuki, who lowered the tablet so the diminutive duo could read the diary too.

" This cannot come at a worse time, that with Himari-chan miraculously getting offered a talent audition by – god this sounds unreal even now – Double H's agency! It turns out that Hibari Isada and Hikari Utada were actually friends of Himari in elementary school, but that they'd somehow lost touch. When their agency suggested the Duo becomes a Trio for marketing purpose, Hibari-san and Hikari-san actually nominated Himari–chan – whom they apparently remember fondly – as a potential candidate! But with Himari-chan now . . ." the cracking sound of Kanba's knuckles briefly interrupted Tsuwabuki's reading, before the preppy was to continue, "with Himari-chan now being so gloomy and on edge, I'm not sure if the coming audition can go well. I am now doing everything I can to cheer and relax her, hoping she'd be up to at her best then; this is such a big opportunity for her. I think finding this brother that Himari-chan and her family can't remember having is important to stabilizing her emotions. I've been trying to talk Mom into hiring a detective, but she's skeptical on prying so deeply into another family's business . . . "

"Well?" Kozue glared down at the Takakuras. "Have you boys now finally made up your minds to go back home?"

"They'll see us as our 'invisible' selves . . ." muttered Shouma with his head down, "if they can see us at all."

"Ah, shadows . . . " The young woman then turned towards Tokiko. "Childa-san, now that we know who they are, how do we get them home? As their old selves, I mean."

The experienced witch frowned lightly. "The Fate Diary has since been destroyed, and by the Takakura's account Ringo-chan had used up its remnant power by activating the spell. A more . . . realistic approach would be to get the girls to see and accept the brothers' changes, and-"

"And what?" asked Kanba, brutishly. "Have us haunt them like the ghosts that we've now become? They can't let other people know about us, we'd be like some freak secret they'd have to hide from the world! This kinda 'reunion' can't be good for them, and it's not what we want either."

"Your concern is valid," said Juri, offering her piece after having since observed the brothers for a while. "Still, reunion or not, I do believe those girls deserve to know what has happened to you boys, and that this is all because of your self sacrifices; I believe you both owe each other that much." Kanba rolled his eyes.

"Listen, lady-"

"Listen to this," Shiori spoke up from where she took over reading off the tablet. "Entry 323: Today, while I was at Himari-chan's place helping her practice for the audition, a letter has arrived for her. 'To the one forgetting: come to the penguin tank at Sunshine City Aquarium at the time and date specified below. You shall find the forgotten truth that you seek.' Himari-chan wants to go, of course – the fact that whoever wrote this somehow knows about her apparent amnesia makes for an irresistible draw. Yet . . . this seem too ominous to be safe. I told her if she insists on going, then she must let me go with her. And just now, right before inputting this entry, I've found in my mailbox that exact same letter! But . . . I haven't even told anyone about my dreams of the burning boy (except for in this blog, but this is password protected so it must be safe) . . ." She and the Duelists all turned to stare at the Children of Fate, who glared back; Shiori then read on. "Just what's going on here? I guess there's no avoiding it – we both have to go and meet this ominous person, and face whatever fate has in store for us."

"What's going on?" Shouma could not help but ask. "Nobody should know about the Fate Transfer in this reality . . ."

Tsuwabuki squinted his eyes at the tablet screen. "It says here the meeting is . . . it's today; around this time, even." The brothers jumped.

"WHAT?"

"You mean Himari and that _ditz_ are meeting some ominous freak at the Aquarium like _right now?!_" Kanba turned to bark at his brother. "Shouma! We're going!"

"Oginome is not a ditz!" protested Shouma. "But . . . yeah, we have to-" He stilled at a hand gesture from Juri, who was eyeing the since emptied car repair cage with narrowed green eyes.

"Childa-san . . . I don't suppose Mikage and Himemiya are still on the premises?"

* * *

"You're . . . kidding, right?

"After you just ran off without saying anything . . . is this how you've been since?"

Wet, brand-marked face lifted up by Saionji's broad hand, Touga continued to stare vapidly through him as though the other man was never there to begin with; green eyes bloodshot, his lifelong friend let out a dry, wheezing chuckle – one that sent trembles through (helplessly on-looking) Nanami's petite frame.

"What? Is this something you want to show us? Some _statement_you're trying to make?"

"Kyouichi . . ." whimpered the now fearful Nanami, reaching forth to try and unclasp the man's large hand off of Touga.

"You . . . fucking _**HOLE!**_" Slamming Touga back down into the filled squat bowl amidst Nanami's shrill, torn scream, Saionji then proceeded to deal blow after blow down upon the redhead's naked torso to water-splashing effects. "You got any idea how worried your sister was for you?!"

Said sister had since pounced the enraged man like a frantic cat, and was clawing at him trying to get him off of her brother, to little effects.

"Don't hurt Onii-sama! Don't-"

"Touga! You think you can just ditch us after all that _hell_you've dragged us through with you?! You think you can just scare us away with this freak act, and, and-"

It was the partition door getting torn open that finally stopped Saionji's violence; all three of them looked up and at the backpack-wearing Utena, now staring down upon the dazed, bruised redhead with hard, cloudy eyes.

"Touga, we're leaving."

* * *

**End Part Twelve**

**Notes:** Thanks to everyone for your continued support for the story! Gob Hobblin, your detailed C&C –especially those via PM - are much appreciated! Yes, the Penguindrum cast are at last properly introduced – backstories included – as they get in on the action. There are small but significant bits on child-Utena and current Utena in this part, which will lead up to a dramatic plot advancement in Part 13, so please stay tuned.  
P.S.: I think everyone can tell just who those "twins" mentioned by Mrs. Ohtori are, and can already guess their exact relationship to her.


	13. Victims of Fate III

**Seinen Kakumei Utena**

Utena and Penguindrum characters belong to their various owners.

**WARNING:** Parts of this work contain depictions of transphobia, controversial shoujo fantasy trans situation that in no way reflects real life trans people, and misogynic magic attack leading to forced masculinization.

**Part Thirteen: Victims of Fate III** (BETA-ed by **TheOnlyFlorence**)

* * *

**Notes:** Much appreciation to **Lurv** for her flaw-checking efforts throughout this multi-part. **TheOnlyFlorence**: I cannot thank you enough for your meticulous BETA-ing.

P.S. The song "Heavenly Pink" is modified from Bee Gees' "Melody Fair" – a 60's classic that was almost "prophetic" in that it foretold the Dios scene in SKU EP39 to eerie perfection (or could it be that there was a Bee Gees fan in Be-Papas?).

* * *

Time: 10 years post-revolution  
Place: Ohtori Academy (Japan), Underground Garage

"So the invited have all gathered at the meeting spot? Keep them monitored; await further instructions before proceeding to stage 2." There was a brief pause. "Of course I've had you all covered. Your group has been a long-time investment of the Ohtori Clan, after all."

Putting down the now-vintage car phone earpiece back into its crank (_how quickly do man-made items go out of style_, he thought), the entity leaned back against his car's seat with the sinuousness of a self-sunning reptile. Green eyes hooded, he cast his impassive gaze upon a slot to the opposing side of the garage, where numerous mechanics labored over a red convertible – one identical in appearance to his – grotesquely skewered by numerous charred, gnarled swords.

The car phone rang. Picking it up, he heard, to his un-surprise, the jocular, boyish voice of his current top-performing pawn:

/"Feeling good about yourself, Prince? Again you've had some woman suffer on your behalf."/

The sword-skewered red convertible's lopsided plate – one that read "OHTORI" - fell off with a brittle clang, revealing the name "KANAE" on its flip side; the Prince exhaled into the phone with measured slowness.

"Can you still not comprehend what a 'prince' is, even after all this time playing one?" he asked back.

/"Oh, give me time, _sempai_ – I'm still pretty green when compared to you."/

"You've certainly turned out to be just as layered as your nick-namesake would suggest," mused the Prince, his voice textured with dark mirth. "Had Nemuro-kun bothered to go deep enough into your core during his turn in the game, history could've been rewritten."

This bratty piece, of course, talked back like he always did. /"History still could be rewritten yet – it's for this that you've been using me up through the past ten years."/  
A sinister moaning sound, girlish as it was desperate, came faintly audible through the tension-thick atmosphere; the Prince paid it no heed.

"You've gained much through this past decade."

/"The bad along with the good, you mean."/

"I've helped you become what you've always wanted to be: something to be seen."

The faint moaning shrilled into an airy, agonizing scream echoing against the garage's shadowy space. Then came a snapping sound, before a murky red light lit up the slot to the left of where the Prince currently occupied, revealing yet another red convertible identical in appearance to his; its plate, unlike that of the Prince's vehicle, read "INOUE".

/"My lord and savior, when you say things like this, I can't help but wish for you to feel my wounds, my sufferings, with your own body – I think only then can you truly comprehend just what you've done to me."/

A flapping sound started to drone in the dimness, its beats frantic as the wings of a moth under fire. As if drawn by the sound, the red haze "spilled over" to illuminate the Prince's slot, revealing his car's plate to be rapidly flipping as if upon a rotating axis.

"Is that why you're taking the time to call, _Onion-kun?_" asked the Prince, purposely reminding the ungrateful tool of his humble beginnings.

The car's plate paused, revealing the word "OHTORI".

"Onion-kun's" voice audibly tensed up with defensiveness. /"I'm calling to tell you I'm taking time off starting now and through the weekend. Get your goons at the Agency to rearrange my schedule around me."/

The glow had by now covered the slot to the right of the Prince's convertible, revealing a dark-colored racecar of insectile design – one with a plate reading "KAORU."

"Reason for time off?"

/"Re-repairs,"/ spat the now openly agitated "Onion-kun", before briskly terminating the call.

Lips curled in a somewhat enigmatic smirk, the Prince again leaned his weight against the cushioned car seat.

On the light reddened floor, sharp shades had gathered in a lively shadow play – one voiced by a trio of girly voices:

_I wonder?_

_I wonder?_

_Do you know what I wonder?_

_"I'm da über mucho macho Top Dawg!"_

_"And I'm the top dawg's down low sub biatch - Bottom Dawg ~"_

_"And we're chilling chilling cool, in our thugged-out doggy doggy do, n' doggy doggy style!"_

(A heartbroken young lass glided by the two, her delicate stance brittle with grief.)

_"Daamn! Dat lil' biatch sure looks classy, Bottom Dawg!"_

_"Me wanna be classy too, Top Dawg ~"_

_"I know! Why dun we go double team dat classy lil' biatch? I bet we'd get some of dat classy chill too, Bottom Dawg."_

_"Damn right, Top Dawg ~"_

(The two jumped the lass, right as the shadows abruptly scattered in a fluttery, moth-like swarm amidst sharp cries that could either be laughter or screaming.)

_Do you know?_

_Do you know?_

_Do you wonder what we know?_

"You," uncaring of the Shadows and their demented sounds, the Prince purred with his lips brushing intimately against the velvety, flesh-toned seat covering, "what do you think a prince is . . . Mother?"

At his question, the car radio spontaneously snapped on to sound a smoky, womanly alto:

/"Somehow, you only ever call me 'Mother' when my daughter is nearby, Akio-san."/

Baring his even teeth in a broad grin, the Prince looked like he was actually about to answer that, when the car phone rang again.

"Yes? So, she's arrived . . . then it's time. Proceed to Stage Two as planned. Be sure to keep the witch and her accomplices engaged until I give signal to begin Stage Three." Putting down the receiver, he turned the key on his sultrily constructed red convertible. "Time to go, _Hoshimi:_ the game begins."

Engine roaring, the driven "car" shot arrow-like out of her slot, carrying the Prince past the innumerable identical-seeming red convertibles parked inside the garage's many slots, and into the darkness of the Ends of the World.

* * *

"Holy . . . this is almost like that _Magic Mirror_ from Snow White," commented Wakaba, as she and the rest of the group (Duelists plus Children of Fate) gawked in awe at the vast multitudes of holographic projections raised against the starry backdrop, all of which showing what appeared to be live videos of the various parts of the crowded Sunshine City Aquarium.

"This may disappoint, but not much witch power is involved in my doing this," replied Tokiko, busily typing on her keyboard as the projections shift from one area to the other. "I've simply hacked into the video surveillance systems of the Aquarium and its surrounding areas, that's all."

"Wow, Chida-san . . . for someone from your era, you're really tech savvy . . ." immediately realizing the landmine he had just stepped on, Tsuwabuki quickly backtracked. "Oh! I'm not trying to say you're old, Chida-san, cause you're totally beautiful, but . . . um . . ."

"It's okay," assured the ageless witch, busy with checking through the surveillance videos, "I _am_ an old woman from a bygone era. Still, one picks up a few tricks after spending ten years together with a computer genius."

"Chida-san," Juri cut in, suspicious gaze trained upon the woman, "did you know beforehand about Himemiya meeting with the girls today?"

Preoccupied, Tokiko shook her head without looking up. "Himemiya-san keeps her own counsel." Apparently knowing of the truth in her words, Juri did not pursue the matter.

Kozue appeared perturbed by the "crowded" scenes shown. "It's such a freaky way to look at the world, with everyone looking like empty symbols . . ." Beside her, Miki widened his eyes as he spotted something at a corner of a projection screen.

"That family coming out of the souvenir shop with toys for the kids still look normal, though . . ." The words incited a harsh snort out of Kanba, to the slender man's mild mortification.

"Miki-san, there are two kinds of people in the world: those who're loved and those who're not," supplied Shouma quickly and respectfully (he was likely worried that his brother's reaction had come off being rude). "Only those who're unloved risk getting broiled by the world into becoming . . ." his eyes widened at glimpsing something on screen, "Oginome-san . . . !"

Tokiko was already zooming in on a plain-looking girl made noticeable by the crowd of symbols surrounding her; upon closer inspection, she had a younger, more petite friend beside her: one almost completely hidden by the surrounding figures.

"Himari." Kanba's eyes softened with an almost uncharacteristic tenderness at seeing the smaller girl, before his child's face abruptly drew up in wolfish alert. "That guy . . ."

"That man behind the girls in black hat and coat also looks normal," pointed out Shiori, before her eyes started to narrow, ". . . or does he?"

Tokiko zoomed in on that man (some sort of science-defying magic must still be at work atop the "hacking", as there was no distortion in video quality despite this being security cam footage), and all the Duelists gasped in shock at what now became apparent.

"He's got like . . . _no eyes!_" Wakaba recoiled from the projection in fear. "That's why he's wearing his black hat so low: to hide his nonexistent upper profile!"

"Is that . . . also someone who becomes an invisible nothing? Like the symbols?" asked Kozue; Shouma trembled in fright even as Kanba grinded his teeth ferally.

"There's a kind of 'nothing' who will even go as far as to destroy the world and its people, just so they can feel like 'something'," hissed the brown-haired boy in barely contained rage, "and when they show, they show up in droves."

"The Kiga Group," stated Tokiko, pulling up a projection where innumerable men in black could be seen evenly spread out from amongst the vast crowds. "Backed by the Ohtori Clan, their remnant members roam the world even after the government crackdown-"

Suddenly, all the projections started frizzling, before being superimposed by an ominous-looking "yin-yang" penguin face motif. With a stab of a key, Tokiko closed down all the projections, returning the "Room of Stars" back into its former appearance.

"A spiritual barrier over the area, followed by a retaliatory breach-attempt," explained the witch/hacker to the riled-up group. "Further monitoring of the Aquarium from our end has now become impossible."

The Children of Fate tensed at her words. "Then . . . Himari and Oginome-san . . ."

"Himemiya-san and Nemuro-kun should've arrived there already," said Tokiko, while tapping restless fingertips against the edge of her keyboard. "While they're more than a match for Kiga, I'm concerned that Kiga itself might've been just mere decoy sent to distract them from mightier adversaries." She cast her glinting eyes upon the slightly parted door leading back into the mansion. "Time to involve the New Prince."

* * *

The Sunshine City Aquarium was filled with nature's wonders, displayed behind glass for the eyes of beholders.

The vast majority of its predominantly female visitors, however, currently trained their lusty gazes upon something else – something that wasn't even present.

/"And now, ladies and gentleman, it's the moment you've all been waiting for: the unveiling of our Aquarium's A-list endorser – _Seen's_ - newest HD 3D MV: _Heavenly Pink!_"/

The biseinen idol's pristine image appeared upon the tall LED screen to thunderous applause from the eager crowd, whose cheering never ceased even after he had started singing:

/"Who was that girl with the crying face,  
Looking at funeral signs?  
She thought her life was an ended race.  
Into her coffin there she lied . . ."/

The pop ballad, while well-sung, largely fell upon deaf ears, as the clamoring women all were eagerly chatting about something else entirely:

" Those lush romantic curls . . . how can any man be so . . . princely?!"

"Look at that clothes-hanger build . . . he could be on the runway in Milan and Paris!"

"I so wanna be one of those two dancers who got to be with him ~ "

". . . wait, aren't those girls Double H?"

"You're right . . . they _are_ Double H! Since when do they dance backup for other artists?"

"Well, Seen _does_ rank much higher than them on like all the popularity polls."

"He's so leggy, the girls look like penguins wobbling beside him."

"They're really kinda plain for idols; no wonder their agency need to generate press with that mystery Triple H new member thing."

"That new H will have to be someone un-leggy enough to match the existing two, though . . ."

Unnoticed by the tittering, judging bunch, two tensely somber girls were passing by from behind them, with the older of the two – one spotting a girly bob cut – now shooting them a heated glare.

"Geez, if Double H could be called short penguins, then I suppose the place is swarming with ovulating turtles by their own definition," grumbled the feisty girl, before turning back to her younger companion with a reassuring smile. "Himari-chan, don't you mind what they say; Hibari-san and Hikari-san are-"

"I don't think they had to endure this kind of judgment before becoming idols," murmured Ikebe Himari, her expression one of disconcerted pensiveness. "Isn't it strange? The three of us were supposed to be friends in elementary school, but I can't remember anything about them from that time: what they looked like, any of the things we should've done together . . . nothing. If it wasn't for Hibari-san and Hikari-san coming to me, I wouldn't have remembered that we had even known each other." Reaching the penguin pool, the wisp of a girl climbed a step of wooden lining up the glass fence as if out of habit. "And these penguins-" the girl's foot slipped, and the older girl hurried up to steady her from falling.

"Himari-chan!"

" . . . I-I'm okay; thanks, Ringo-chan."

Oginome Ringo frowned chidingly at Himari. "You mustn't be so careless right before your talent audition, Himari-chan." Himari hung her head in sheens of long, fine hair.

"I'm sorry," the girl apologized in her airy, brittle voice. "Just now, I suddenly remembered that I've actually been here – I mean since way before we came here together after our hospital stay. I remember how someone had always helped me up this wooden step so I could look over the fence, but I can never remember who that someone was. My adoptive parents never once took me here, and . . ." A tear escaped her eye then, and Ringo quietly helped her clean up with a Kleenex. "Oh, Ringo-chan . . . I don't know what I'd do without you. There are all these holes in my memory, it's like there is really no concrete past to uphold this pleasant . . . present." Sniffing, she glanced up at the older girl in fright and helplessness. "It's like we're both trapped inside some elaborate illusion, where _nothing_ is real, Ringo-chan!"

"Himari-chan . . . " uncertainty welled up from within Ringo's amber eyes, before the girl made a visible effort to don a brave, cheery front. "Don't worry. We're going to get all the answers today! Now that we've come here like the letter instructed, we're finally gonna meet up with that omniscient person who knows about the amnesia, and . . ." Her words trailed off at seeing the peculiar widening of Himari's eyes. " . . . Himari-chan?"

"You . . . you're . . ." uttered Himari in what looked like rapidly dawning recognition, as she reached down to clasp her small hands around something seemingly short and rotund . . . something that looked like thin air to Ringo, " . . . Number . . . 3?" Worried, Ringo clasped a hand upon Himari's slim shoulder.

"H-Himari-chan-" and she got tongue-tied, as immediately upon contact, she suddenly found herself seeing a fake-looking blue penguin – one with the number "3" written on its back – now cuddling up against the other girl's embrace in an extremely lifelike manner. "T-That . . . that's . . .?!"

" . . . Esmeralda?"

Turning at the quivering voice, Ringo saw to their side a stylish young woman gawking down at an also artificial-seeming black penguin now snuggling up against her long, stocking-clad lower leg. Apparently geared with sharp senses, the young woman noticed Ringo's staring almost immediately; her eyes widened with disbelief at seeing her and Himari.

"You and _that_ girl," the young woman's body tensed in defensiveness, "you're both . . . real?!"

"Natsume Masako-san . . ." whimpered Himari, who apparently recognized the young woman . . . with fear; the blue and black penguins by their respective sides now were glaring cartoon-ish-ly at each other.

Unnoticed by the flabbergasted girls, shady men had since appeared from all around the crowded place in significant numbers, their stark black hats and trench coats contrasting the lighter attires of the regular visitors to ominous effects . . .

/"Heavenly Pink won't you comb your hair?  
You can be beautiful too.  
Heavenly Pink, remember you're only a princess.  
Heavenly Pink, remember you're only a child.  
Ah . . ."/

* * *

"We're leaving."

Utena's sentence impacted those inside the toilet partition like an unexpected slap; and they reacted to it as such.

"Leave . . .?" asked Saionji, the desperate, explosive anger twisting his expression mirroring those often seen in his high school days.

"Y-You can't!" Sharp-tongued Nanami actually stuttered, so outraged was she now. "Not after having dragged everyone of us into your fight against him . . . are you _fucking **insane?!**_"

Ignoring the two like they were never there to begin with, Utena stepped into the already crowded partition, and proceeded to pull Touga up and out of the water.

"Hey! Keep your hands off my-" Nanami's sentence died out, as she realized how Touga was responding to Utena's draw, as he now stood steadily up on his own feet. Producing a large towel, Utena then proceeded to dry the wet, naked man matter-of-factly as the others looked on in shock.

"Tenjou-kun,"

"Touga,"

"I can't become a prince after all."

"Me neither."

"But, at least I finally get to meet you, as myself, " said Touga, displaying his smooth, willowy body with neither modesty nor shame. "Tenjou-kun," he looked his past crush in the eye, "are you yourself now?"

Only then did Utena – no longer innocent, no longer even female – finally looked away, as he then shoved a pile of clothes up and in Touga's stoic face.

"Tenjou-kun," persisted Touga, whose piercing, merciless gaze remained trained upon Utena; head down, Utena clenched his fists till his knuckled turned white.

"You . . . why is it that every time we meet, you're always trying to hurt me?"

* * *

Time: 6 years pre-revolution  
Place: Outskirts of Kiryuu Estate, Water Canal

". . . we meet again," whispered Touga to himself from where he was again peeking at _her,_ this time behind the obscuring shrubs beside the small canal park.

It had been two years since he first saw her; two years during which the boy had repeatedly chanced upon the pink-haired girl – the one spoiled rotten by parents – at various spots around the area, watching on unnoticed as she grew more and more beautiful living her charmed life . . . two years since he himself had become a witch.

Ever since he became a witch, the abuses had indeed stopped; since the abuses had stopped, so too did those contrived family interactions the Kiryuus once had with the siblings. Touga himself of course relished in the absence of the pervs from their immediate vicinity, but Nanami – believing them to be the parents – grew up feeling unloved; she had grown, as per the years, increasingly dependant upon him.

_"Mama and Papa don't need me, so I don't need them either! I need only you, Onii-sama; I have only you . . ."_

Even without the abuses, even "protected", he and Nanami still were unloved children – existing opposed to those chosen by fate to live engulfed in love.

" . . . and after a bit more practice, you'd be able to do even this." Looking resplendent in her brand name leotard, the pink-haired lass then proceeded to execute a showy skipping rope trick in front of a small gathering of admiring girls. "Nothing sculpts the lines like exercise!"

Such a radiantly foolish girl, looking like she had never even known of the darker things roaming the world – like pedophiles who pose as parents, like parents who hurt their children . . . like him.

He had grown fixated upon her out of envy; and fascination . . . and something deeper; something he could not yet define at his young age.

He knew that they were from different worlds, that their only interaction would be nothing more than someone like him watching someone like her from afar – while obscured underneath dark shades, invisible and seething.

Unless . . .

"Wait! But wouldn't all this jumping about make the legs go chunky?"

"What if this gives us cankles?"

"Oh no: jumping exercises actually help the legs grow longer while reducing waist-size, and can make us look so much better in whatever we wear . . . "

"Onii-sa-"

Startled by Nanami's abrupt sneak up from behind him, Touga quickly pressed a hand over his little sister's mouth, keeping her quiet.

" . . . now that I've scored perfect on the math test, Mama and Papa has finally agreed to take me with them to _Tokyo_ on their work trip," claimed the pink-haired girl, beaming with excitement. "I'd get to check out the designer boutiques there myself! So, if there's anything you girls want me to get for ya . . ." The offer was met with jubilant "oooh-s" and "aaah-s", as the group of privileged little girls moved off and away. Relaxed, Touga released Nanami, who sagged like an unsupported doll.

" . . . why're you looking at _those_ girls?" she asked with _that_ hurt look in her dark eyes . . . it was the look she had two years ago, on _that_ day.

Nanami thought he was oblivious, but he knew.

He knew what she did, two years ago.

Like most other kids, Touga had naturally liked animals to begin with. However, in those days just after his birthday – around the very beginning stages of his "protection period" – the boy had been inseparable from the kitten largely because he _knew_ Kiryuu Papa feared it. To better control the kitten, he had spent a lot of time bonding with it – and that quickly made his clingy sister jealous.

On that wet, cloudy day, while looking for his pet, Touga found Nanami sneaking furtively out of the side gates with a card box in hand. Normally, he would not pay much attention to that, if not for how that card box looked very similar to the one the girl had used as a gift box for the kitten.

The soft meow faintly audible from within the box confirmed his suspicion.

Tailing his little sister from behind, he followed her out to the canal, and watched on stunned as she then slipped the boxed kitten into the wild torrents of the flooded waterway. There was this macabre crow's screech, before the girl fled into the cold rain, crying in guilt and in despair.

Up till that moment, Touga had thought he had managed to protect his sister's innocence from the Kiryuus; how wrong he was.

The monsters had twisted Nanami's soul just by pretending to be her parents _while doing no parenting_.

Presently – at this exact same spot she once drowned that kitten – his volatile, vulnerable sister was brawling against his embrace as if out of breath.

"I can't bear it if you're to fall for some _girl!_ Onii-sama, look only at me! Care only for me! _Love_ me!"

Still mentally scrambling for the right words to pacify the hysterical child, the boy did what he had always done in similar situations: he kissed her gently on the forehead.

And it worked like magic; just like it did every single time before.

"Nanami, I'm not 'falling' for any of them."

" . . . huh?"

"Girls like those are just like troublesome insects," Touga flicked his hair – grown long again after the cut from two years ago – in a disdainful gesture. "I looked only so I could watch out for them. You're my only sister; you're the only one who's important to me."

"Onii-sama . . ." Nanami hugged him with fierce, teary gratitude. "_Onii-sama!_"

Patting his unhealthily clingy sister on the back of her blond haired head, the boy cast a furtive gaze at where that dazzling girl and her friends had disappeared off into the distance.

Being from different worlds, someone like him could only ever watch someone like her from afar – while obscured underneath dark shades, invisible and seething.

Unless . . . unless he could get his own filthy hands on her, and drag her down to his level, so they might at last be on that same common ground.

So they might finally get to meet.

* * *

Time: 10 years post-revolution  
Place: Chida Mansion

"If you're really yourself, then you'd goddamn remember how I no longer have a self, and _why!_"

Utena's statement was punctuated by his throwing the clothes brutishly in Touga's stoic face: an act that somehow caused the "W" branding on the latter's left cheek to start letting blood. Shocked out of her stupor, Nanami tried advancing on the Victor, but was held back but Saionji's hand on her shoulder.

"What, don't you remember?" Livid with rage now, Utena pointed a finger at Touga like he would a raised sword. "You've met my true self while I lied dying; and instead of trying to save me, you-"

"I gave that fatal cut, from which sprouted you and your trail of coffins," said the redheaded man, who seemed unaware (or uncaring) of the blood marring his snow-pale face. "Yes, it's all my fault: I was the witch who brought low what could have been a princely princess. Do you hate me, even now? Do you regret meeting me? And, if you do . . ." blue eyes glinting, he stepped up and towards the trembling young man, ". . . can this regret give you motivation enough to get back on your feet, or will you still hide yourself inside some coffin just like before?"

"You-"

And their surroundings changed with a disorienting abruptness, such that the four suddenly found themselves in a pristine, elegantly renovated bathing area, where the squat toilet Touga came out of now had become a Jacuzzi tub, filled and running.

Red rose petals – glossy from being lacquered – could be seen scattered about the corners of the bath in artful disarray.

"W-Wha . . . ?!" Nanami looked around in disbelief. "That was . . . ?"

"A projection," muttered Saionji, his hardened gaze trained upon Touga, who stood wet and naked but without the bleeding, "and it's clear just _who_ the 'projector' is here."

Then came a short, brisk series of raps at the door, before it got pushed open as Tokiko strode right in.

"Pardon me for interrupting." The elegant woman kept her eyes on Utena alone as she, with a wave of her hand, somehow materialized a bathrobe around Touga's nakedness. "Tenjou-san, Himemiya-san is presently in battle against Akio's subordinates, including Kiga; she could be needing your-"

"No."

" . . . no?"

"I won't see Himemiya right now," stated the New Prince, downcast and sullen, "not her, not Kiga."

Tokiko frowned. "Tenjou-san . . ."

"No. What she did-"

"Ho, this is _rich!_" Nanami cut Utena off with a derisive snort. "You, who've been trying to make us all accept Himemiya - even knowing about the many people she'd destroyed and killed all along - you're now breaking it off with the all-powerful-witch right when we all _need her the most?_ After having lumped us in on your side against her brother? All this, just because she might – **might** - be involved with your parents' death?! What makes your parents bigger than the rest of their many victims – bigger than us?" The petite blonde stomped up and at the tense Victor with spite in her steps. "You hypocritical, _self-centered_-"

"Enough, Nanami."

Touga's quiet but firm voice impacted his sister like an abrupt slap, stunning her into wide-eyed stillness. He then turned to face Tokiko.

"Tenjou is in no condition to be of help at the moment. There are things that needs settling – that I should've settled earlier on, since meeting her again – and it will have to be done now." The man's gaze upon the witch was steady and hard. "Please understand, Chida-san."

By now, the gathered ones were all looking in from the opened door, their tensed faces betraying their current anxiousness.

"Chida-san," Kanba spoke up aloud for all to hear, "Shouma and I are going with or without Pink Hair."

"If the boys are going, then I am too," stated Kozue; Miki looked uncertain from where he stood beside his twin.

"But . . . without Tenjou-sempai . . ."

"Himemiya brought all of us here, because we – for what we're worth to the normal world – somehow have the power to go against the Chairman." She clasped her hands upon the brother's small shoulders. "These two had sacrificed their all to save a girl they call their sister." Her sharp gaze cut at her twin, who awkwardly looked away. "I want to help these guys protect their sacrifice in whatever way I can. And," her lips curled in a feral smirk, "if my helping them involves thwarting that monster's despicable plans in some way, then more power to me." The Takakuras appeared stunned by her passion.

"Kozue Nee-san . . . !"

"Kozue has a point," Juri took a step up to beside the Kaorus. "We're here because we're not completely powerless against the Chairman. Isn't that right, Chida-san?"

"Yes . . . and no," said Tokiko, after taking a moment. "With the exception of the potentially powerful Tenjou-san, all the other Duelists can only face up against Ohtori Akio by forming driver/vehicle partnerships." She cast her worried gaze across the group. "Most of you are not ready for that just yet."

"Driver . . . vehicle partnerships?" asked a visibly disconcerted Shiori, now clasping her hand upon Juri's forearms. "Does this mean . . . we're meant to . . . I . . .?" Appearing nervous herself, Juri hugged the smaller woman to her side under the other Duelists' quizzical gazes.

"There are two kinds of people in this world," explained Tokiko, "those who drive others onwards, and those who get driven onwards by others." The Duelists looked amongst themselves uncertainly. "As far as I know, Himemiya-san had planned it so that the Duelists she gathered this time around are pairs with potential to make for a powerful 'race team', for lack of a better term."

"So it's gonna be a car race this time around?" exclaimed Wakaba in genuine bafflement. "Against whom? Towards what?"

Tokiko's delicate face hardened in determination. "Against worldly obstacles since prepared by the Ends of the World; towards the truth beyond the world's shell."

"I don't get it."

"You will; you all will in good time. For now, I ask all Duelists to stay here with Tenjou-san. I'll go with the Takakura brothers to protect their loved ones and help Himemiya-san against Kiga and whatever else the Devil has up his sleeve."

"Why only the kids?" asked Kozue. Stepping up, Tokiko gently pulled the child-shaped Takakuras away from the girl and towards herself.

"Because they are immune from violence in their present insubstantial state – even though they cannot enact violence either."

Her statement appeared to worry Miki. "But . . . with only you having any offensive power-"

"Nemuro-kun and Himemiya-san should be there already; we can manage," assured the elegant, delicate witch. "Kanba-kun, Shouma-kun, we're going." Even before Tokiko's sentence was completely finished, the boys were already losing shape, color, and form, before exploding outward in a vortex of sharp, glassy pieces that completely obscured her slender figure; the glittery, lucent storm dissipated almost as quickly as it formed, leaving behind no trace of the vanished trio.

" . . . they can manage," mumbled Miki to himself, obviously awed by the impressive unreality he just witnessed; the other Duelists also appeared similarly stunned. The group soon gathered their wits about them and refocused upon the now trembling Utena, standing in front of Touga with his head hung low.

"Well, I ain't staying behind just to have to look at _that,_" snorted Kozue at their Victor in a purposefully loud voice. "I'll be downstairs." With that, she turned on sharply her heel and left.

"Kaoru-san," Shiori flitted after the feisty girl like a delicate bird. "Let's all stick together; we can monitor news alert about Sunshine City Aquarium, and maybe come up with some ways to keep this operation going . . ." Apparently worried how the eager suggestion was going to go down with the thorny listener, both Juri and Miki quickly followed from behind.

"Nanami-sama," Tsuwabuki got up to the older young woman – one who had remained wordless since being silenced by her brother – with the carefulness of one walking on eggshells. "Come with us?"

Downcast, like a hollowed-out husk, the once catty blonde passively allowed the young man – already taller than her by a head – to gently guide her out the door; they briefly brushed past Wakaba during their exit.

"Utena-sa . . . Utena," Wakaba called to her once best friend from where she stood worriedly at the door. "Umm, now that you . . . and Himemiya . . . what're you going to do now?"

"Wakaba . . ." croaked Utena though his constricted throat; his head still was hung low: as if he was not yet strong enough to look up at the world yet. "I'm sorry."

"For . . . what?"

"For dragging everyone into a fight against that monster, when I'm not even ready to face him myself. It must've been so scary for all of you, having to face the Swords with no idea what to expect. Because I'm so weak, Chida-san now has to fight Kiga and Akio by herself-"

"Utena." Wakaba cut him off in a surprising firm voice. "Yeah, like, there are a lot of things going on that I don't understand . . ." the young woman paused to take a deep breath, "but, this I know for sure: you were the one who saved each and every one of us, back when we needed saving." Her voice and expression both softened with warm empathy. "So don't be sorry - it's now _our_ turn to save you, that's all." The young woman's brown eyes misted at seeing the tear tracks now trailing down Utena's pale cheek. "I'll be with the others." With that, she too backed out of the bath area, leaving the broken new prince alone with his emotions . . .

. . . alone with those two, who were as much fellow duelists to him as they were his kindred spirits in despair.

Touga and Saionji . . . Saionji and Touga; their watchful gazes upon him now felt every bit as invasive as they did on that night at the church, back when they all still were kids, back when they all still were young victims at the ends of their world.

The lights were beginning to dim, and the setting was beginning to change. There now were impressions of stained-glass windows letting light in from the outside - colored lights that revealed three coffins all bearing stylized rose motifs. Stepping up – bumping past Saionji's shoulder as he did so – Touga moved to one of the coffins, and started pushing its lid aside . . .

"Don't," whimpered Utena, his voice eeriely girlish and child-like against the dull thunders now droning in the distance, "please don't . . . "

* * *

Time: 6 years pre-revolution  
Place: Tokyo, Shinjuku Subway Station

Theirs was a family of three smartly dressed in high-end casual wear, and they were hurrying towards the bustling subway station entrance with hurried haste.

"Pumpkin, we don't have to go quite that early! The store won't be open till-"

"We _have to_, Papa!" Blue eyes determined, the little girl was literally dragging her father by the hand, as they prowled their way through the thick morning crowd. "Sorya Rich is debuting its limited edition designer choker today: there must be a long lineup outside the store—oof!" It was then that she accidentally bumped against a man, the force almost sending the sizable box he was carrying tumbling down upon her.

"Utena!" Exclaimed her father in alarm, as he turned quickly towards the impacted man. "I'm so sorry: my daughter is too unruly. Are you okay?"

The man - nondescript in appearance but for the penguin motif on his back and on his box – paid Utena and her father no heed as he briskly went on his way.

"See how you've embarrassed yourself with this behavior! Pumpkin, you really should . . ." Mr. Tenjou trailed off at realizing that his words were falling on deaf ears, with his daughter remaining utterly focused on her forward momentum towards what she wanted.

"Rush hour on a day off; what joy . . ." grumbled Mrs. Tenjou, whose ruffle-filled sundress proved impractical when amongst the crowding, squishing mass.

"What can we do?" bemoaned the khakis-clad husband, looking out of place from amidst the suited "salary men" from all around. "We got ourselves a little type-B: self-centered and fixation-prone." Complains aside, fatherly pride still was evident in his expression. "At least our girl's princess-ly craving is motivating her to do well at school . . ."

"At least there's that . . ." conceded the dainty wife, smiling in spite of herself.

"Hurry! Hurry! We're gonna miss the train!" The pink-haired princess – willfully ignoring the heartwarming exchange, so possessed was she by the single-mindedness of childhood – impatiently urged her parents along towards the subway gates, towards the life-changing event that was to leave this child forever altered.

* * *

**End Part Thirteen**


	14. Victims of Fate IV

**Seinen Kakumei Utena**

Utena and Penguindrum characters belong to their various owners.

**WARNING:** Parts of this work contain depictions of transphobia, controversial shoujo fantasy trans situation that in no way reflects real life trans people, and misogynic magic attack leading to forced masculinization. This particular chapter also contains non-graphic depiction of child abuse and UST, so be warned.

**Part Fourteen: Victims of Fate IV** (BETA-ed by **TheOnlyFlorence**: whatever mistakes still present are results of my own stubbornness)

* * *

Time: 10 years post-revolution  
Place: Sunshine City Aquarium

Even before taking up the peculiar invitation together with her friend, the girl had known that this meeting – one brought on by some mysterious person promising to fill in certain inexplicable gaps in their memories – would be one totally out-there experience.

It was the magnitude of the "out-there" that left her unprepared.

/"Who was that girl dueling in the sky,  
Watching the Castle come down?  
Heavenly, life isn't just a game.  
It's just like a merry-go-round . . ."/

Forcefully ignoring the four strange penguins now waltzing to the pop ballad playing in the background, Oginome Ringo instead focused her attention on the baffling confrontation now unfolding in front of her.

"Takakura Himari . . ."

"Natsume Masako . . ."

"Are you the one who sent that letter telling me to come?" asked this ferocious Masako girl, now stepping towards trembling Himari. "You're real . . . that means . . . that means my twin brother is . . . Kanba! Oh my _god_ . . . I remember now: Kanba boarded the Fate Train for _you!_" Appearing stunned, Himari remained glued to her spot as the other girl continued to advance. "What happened to him? You must know! He's sacrificing his life and future all to save you! You're alive and well, so what happened to my brother? Why is he gone from this world with no one remembering he ever existed?" The girl then forcefully grabbed her friend by her slim shoulders. "You, what did you make him do-"

"My friend didn't send no letter," snarled Ringo, now standing protectively in front of Himari after having shoved Masako off her friend and backwards. "We came because we got a letter telling us to come and find some 'forgotten truth'!" Something occurred to her then. "Hey . . . did you also receive a letter telling you to come? Natsume Masako . . . san, are you also here trying to . . . remember something forgotten?"

" 'Forgotten?' " Masako's wild, manic gaze intimidated the other girl into taking a step back. "Oginome, the Magic Diary . . . do you still have it? With the spell in it, you can . . ."

"Magic . . . diary?" Ringo's conscious mind drew a blank; yet the feeling of déjà vu was strong, to the point that goose bumps now rose on the back of her neck.

"Quit acting oblivious!" Masako now was right in her face, frantic hands grabbing her by the shoulders. "The memories may be repressed by magic, but they still show up in dreams! There hasn't been a single sleeping moment since where I don't dream about Kanba, so I know you couldn't have forgotten everything completely!"

Impressions, vague like indigo hues amidst a flame's saffron mass, started surfacing in Ringo's mind: a redheaded youth tall and aloof, his wolfish eyes watching as fire engulfed her person, engulfed the pink book upon which she had placed her every hope . . .

" . . . I had a diary," murmured the girl, her unsteady voice weak against the thumping of her racing heart, "my sister's diary that's been passed down to me, after s-she . . . my sister died the day I was born . . . but how did she die? The diary . . . it . . . burned because someone tricked me. But I found out what the spell is anyway, and I used it . . . used it to-" She had to stop, as none of what she now suddenly recalled could cohere with her existing memory; none of it even made any logical sense . . . the hysterical young woman's painful grip was not helping her think; she needed to break free. "I-I don't know what you're talking about! I-"

"At the very least, you must remember something about his so-called brother," insisted Masako as she held tightly onto the struggling Ringo. "That blue-haired boy who was in it along with you and that girl! Remember? He was this clumsy, sweet-faced-"

"Shou-chan."

Himari's airy whimper, coming from behind, hit Ringo like a train. Just like that, her memories started reshuffling themselves – with such violent abruptness, that the traumatized young woman found herself screaming . . .

_"Let_

_us share_

_THE FRUIT OF FATE!"_

_Having voiced the Diary's spell – a phrase of utmost significance to Himari-chan, as revealed by Double H – she collapsed to her knees as the infernal backslash overtook her. Yes, the evil entity who bombed her with the teddy had said that this would happen – that she would get burned down to nothing should she use her sister's volatile magic to change fate. But this was for the best: with this, the curse upon her friends would be lifted, with Himari-chan healed of her illness, Kanba-san cleansed of his crime, and Shouma-kun . . ._

_. . . Shouma-kun-_

_"Oginome-san!"_

_Even while aflame, she could feel his body soft against hers, not quite blocking the heat but making everything bearable enough._

_"This is our punishment," stated Takakura Shouma – son of her sister's murderer, yet also her own personal liberator – all the while drawing the scorching flames away from her singed flesh and towards his own. "Thank you._

_"I love you."_

_There were maybe a million things she wanted to say to him at that very moment, but the heartache got in the way. In no time at all, the moment was over. The world they shared started remolding itself to the sound of train cars detaching, and he was torn out of her embrace by forces unseen. Desperate, she held onto him by his burning hand, helplessly watching on as he was scorched down to nothing right in her grasp, leaving behind_

_not even a speck of ash_

_upon her_

_empty_

_palm . . ._

" . . . Shouma-kun," gasped the overwhelmed young woman who only just now remembered everything (in highly painful details). "You _moron!_"

"Ringo-chan-" started Himari – now grabbing onto her by the hand – before getting promptly cut off.

"NO!" Hysterical now, Ringo could not rein in the sharpness of her voice even if she tried. "He didn't deserve that so-called 'punishment'! None of you did! I could've saved everyone on my own with Momoka Nee-chan's magic! Shouma-kun shouldn't have to get burned! Kanba-san shouldn't have to disappear! They have their lives ahead of them - neither of them should've gotten _erased_ by this stupid, unfeeling world!" Emotionally spent, the girl collapsed backwards in a brittle, trembling wreck; Himari hurriedly steadied her upright; vaguely, she noticed the Masako girl's now somber gaze upon her, but was too weary to care.

"Ringo-chan . . ." Teary-eyed, Himari looked to be struggling for words . . . but really, what could she say, now that they finally realized just what – _whom_ – they've lost to cruel fate? "It's all because of me . . ."

"Don't go there," muttered Ringo, brokenly. "I was responsible too; it was my sister's ghost pushing the boys to-" There was a blur of movement her tear-blurred visage could not quite follow. Before she knew it, both her and Himari were getting forcibly ushered out of the Penguin Tank area and down a corridor, with the four rotund penguins following them upon flapper-ed feet.

"M-Masako-san? What're you doing?"

"Quiet," hissed the girl, thick curls flouncing as she pushed the other two along, "we're being targeted. Act normal, we're moving to the open area where it's more crowded!"

"Targeted . . . ?" Pulling herself together, Ringo glanced about to see a number of suspicious-looking characters now tailing them from behind. "The men in black . . . who are they?" She noticed how her fragile friend seemed alarmingly frightened at seeing those people. "Himari-chan?"

"Quit yapping and hurry the hell up!" At Masako's harsh snap, the group's bumbling sped up to flat-out running, as they all raced towards the line of glittery glass doors leading to the open area . . .

* * *

"Does it still bother you to see them upset?"

Lanky built appearing insubstantial under the video screens' azure blue haze, the youth's husky voice echoed eerily against the dark confines of Sunshine City Aquarium's surveillance room. Seemingly alone – but for the identical penguin hats held in his two hands – he still spoke on:

"Ever since you were a child, yours has always been a will to be reckoned with.

"It is this willpower that allowed for you to work your fate-altering miracles in life, and survive the [1]Magician's curse in death.

"Will is might. If you can remain focused on what is important – discarding all lesser worries – nothing can stop you from reaching your goal.

"Since our meeting at the Destination of Fate, I've allied my will to yours. Together, we've spent the past ten years battling our common enemy from beyond the World's Shell. It is our combined, continued effort that thwarted Kiga's second attempt at a Subway Attack, and again kept the Fate Train out of their keeper's reach

"With my will backing yours, our team can defeat not just Kiga, but also their keeper the Ends of the World, and obtain the Miraculous Power to change the World's Cruel Fate.

"Is this not what you've died for?"

Throughout his speech, there occurred a shifting of shadows and light; a change had come upon the scene, such that the youth now held in his hands not two hats; but rather, the hands of two girls – girls who would have looked identical, but for their different ages and attires.

"My sister blames me for sacrificing her loved ones," murmured the one to his right: a pre-pubescent child in a modest girl's dress marked by a peach motif on the chest.

"Sacrifices must be made for miracles to occur," replied the youth to her. "You know this better than even I do."

"Knowing doesn't equate _liking,_" snarled the one to his left: a teenage dominatrix in a risqué costume marked by a peach motif on the crotch. "Goddamned Ends of the World is sending out these worthless lowlifes after _my_ sister!" With a flick of her hand, she materialized a glowing pink book in her hand; or rather, a torn half of it. "See if I don't erase _HIM_ into nonexistence right here and-" She got cut off by the sudden kiss planted upon her lips.

"We will erase him at that exact, fateful moment soon to come," said the youth, azure blue eyes narrowed as he murmured against the young dominatrix's pouty lips, "which will be soon. Waiting is such sweet longing, no?" The dominatrix had a palm against the front of the youth's regally embroidered white uniform, but only clawed spider-like at the gold buttons along the blue lining instead of outright pushing him away. Turning to his right, the youth's dark expression turned tender, as he petted the downcast young child on her pink-haired head. "The Rebel Witch is on the scene – she will have your sister and her friends covered." His voice softened a notch. "Stop worrying, Princess-sama – it's all part of the Survival Strategy we've since designed for these Fateful Children."

Amber eyes alit as if from fire within, the [2] Princess of the Crystal – both split halves of her – answered the youth as one. "As you say . . . [3]Captain-kun."

* * *

Time: 6 years pre-revolution  
Place: Tokyo, Ikebukuro-bound Marunouchi Line Train

Amidst the confined masses, there existed an individual; amidst the droning chatters, there existed one singular voice softly voicing grim revelations:

"One morning, I woke up and realized that I hated the world.

"This world is made up of innumerable boxes, within which are these countless people confined within.

"That's how they live-"

Monologue ceasing, Sanetoshi glanced down upon the older, agitated man now fidgeting noisily from his seat.

"What's the matter?"

"Kaoru-san isn't picking up the phone. I thought . . . for a day like the harnessing of the Fate Train . . ."

"Have you tried your wife's number yet, Ohtori Chairman-san?" asked Sanetoshi, keeping his tone casual and his undertone darkly mocking, inciting a baleful glare from Chairman Ohtori Tsukiichi. "You know how attached your pup is to that practice doll you've lent him. Surely, those twins she conceived while you were away in Amsterdam are proof enough that-" His sentence got cut off by the Chairman getting up and brutishly bumping past his slight figure, before the latter was to plow rudely through the surrounding passengers and away. Chuckling out loud, he followed the disgruntled gent from behind in smooth, languid steps. "Electrifying."

The vacated seat did not stay unoccupied for long, as a well-dressed couple standing nearby quickly moved over, ushering their dolled-up young daughter towards the emptied spot, getting her seated while they themselves remained standing.

None of them had yet noticed the black teddy stashed beneath the seat.

* * *

Time: 10 years post-revolution  
Place: Chida Mansion

"What're you doing hiding in your coffin?" asked the witch who once was a boy.

"What're you doing prying open my coffin?" retorted the prince who once was a girl.

Silence followed the exchange, with the two remaining cloaked under the obscuring shades and fragmented lights, facing each other at the merged edges of their two worlds.

* * *

Time: 6 years pre-revolution  
Place: Tokyo, Ikebukuro-bound Marunouchi Line Train

[4]/"I'm on the top of the world looking down on creation, and the only explanation I can find . . ."/

Idly listening to the song faintly leaking out from the CD player of the passenger beside her, 8-year-old Tenjou Utena endured the crowded train ride (so much more crowded than what she was used to from the countryside) in ill-contained anxiety and exhilaration.

Very soon, she would arrive at the upscale shopping district of her dreams, where limited edition brand-name accessories were made available to all at various prices, where every beloved little girl can become a princess.

And young Utena was nothing if not beloved.

Already, the little girl's dreamy vision was brightening with imaginary glitter, as she fantasized about the transformation she was about to undergo: the Sebastian Dior tiara would bring out the small-ness of her face, the Sonya Rich choker the slenderness of her neck, the Valentina party dress the length of her legs . . . she would become _charismatic_, a muse whose charm could inspire lasting, _eternal_ works of art –like how her mother had inspired her father to take those stunning pictures, pictures that propelled him into becoming one of the top high-fashion photographers in Japan.

_"Pumpkin, do you know? Charisma is a thing of power; and power, is something that can save lives. There was a time when Papa was suffering inside his shell, and was not able to take any good pictures or do anything productive. It was your Mama, with her princess-like beauty and charm, who smashed Papa's shell and helped Papa create real art that can last on for eternity. You are your Mama's daughter; if you can retain your charisma unto adulthood, someday, someday you will surely find your special someone to save, and when that happens . . ."_

*Gonk!*

Startled by that rigid something bumping against the back of her heel, Utena reached down to pull up what appeared to be a peculiar black teddy bear designed to resemble a toy mecha . . . or was it the other way around? Blinking, the little girl suddenly found herself noticing a number of these teddy mechas scattered about the train car. Despite it being so crowded, none of the people walking by appeared to have problem walking/sitting around the many teddies carelessly laid about. As far as she could tell, nobody appeared to have noticed the teddies, even though men with penguin motifs on their backs (one of whom she vaguely remembered having bumped against earlier on) were dumping the toys about from out of penguin motif boxes-

"It is best if you slowly put that down."

The calmly mature child's voice startled Utena into looking up and at the plainly dressed little girl standing in front of her. She had pink hair vaguely resembling her own, albeit the eyes were amber instead of blue. The girl held in her hands was a large pink book – one clearly labeled as being a diary.

"Eh? You can see them too?" Social by nature and upbringing, Utena put down the teddy as she chatted it up with the other kid. "Wow, these teddies are everywhere. Is this some kinda promotion?"

"You don't know what's happening, do you?"

" . . . huh?"

The slightly older girl looked down upon her in apparent disapproval. "You, being special from birth, should be able to see right through the Kiga Group's charade had you paid attention. Instead, you've let yourself be blind-sighted by fanciful delusions, and have brought yourself and your parents into harm's way. Seeing you here, I almost thought you'd be able to help me against them . . . but now I see I was wrong."

"What're you talking about?" asked Utena, now baffled and miffed.

"It's okay now," the older girl dismissed her question. "You keep on playing princess in your rosy little coffin, but I must go." Her small chest was puffed up with conviction, drawing Utena's attention to the stylized peach motif upon her turtleneck top. "I have power, and will save everyone all by myself."

"Power? Kiga . . . penguin? Do you mean those guys with the penguin faces on their . . . hey!" Even as she pointed at one of the "penguin" guys present, the other girl was already walking away. "Papa," she reached up to tug on her father's arm, "what'd you think that girl is talking about . . ." Once. Twice. It took the child three misses before she actually turned to face her parents, and what she saw stunned her into crying out aloud.

Her parents, along with those many other passengers, all were rapidly fading away into nothing right in front of her eyes.

* * *

Time: 10 years post-revolution  
Place: Sunshine City Aquarium

"We've been expecting you, girls."

Once out in the Aquarium's open area, Ringo and the other penguin-followed girls found themselves now face-to-face with an _army_ of men in black, headed by a similarly dressed woman now smirking imperiously down upon them. What truly dumbfounded her, however, were the "crowds" present in the background – all of whom now revealed to be insubstantial "gender symbols" but faintly visible under the now darkly indigo, motif-cluttered "outdoor skies".

"We've been surrounded," she heard Masako's flat, dead muttering,"there's no place to run."

"What do you want with us?" asked Himari, donning a brave (albeit shaky) front as she faced the ominous – obviously magical- group now essentially holding them captive. "Are you . . . the one who sent us that letter?"

"Takakura Himari, Natsume Masako, and Oginome Ringo, right?" the woman – thin, semi-attractive, likely in her mid-twenties – asked them back, as she flicked at the thin wisps of her curled bangs with a well-manicured hand. "We've been dispatched by the one who can give you back your memories – all of it." She then gestured at a van marked by an ominous black-white penguin face motif, its side door since opened. "Now, get in-"

"Where are you trying to take my guests?"

At that even, ladylike voice cutting in, what appeared to be many identically colored Easter eggs – red markings against dull purple shells – rolled across the floor as if from a random spill, before each and every one them then stopping smoothly at the feet of a black clad man with the precision of a remote-controlled device. One of the men made as if to draw his gun, and the egg at his feet immediately exploded upward in a fiery pillar – one that burned him down to nothing with a surreal, cartoon-like quickness.

"I would suggest that nobody else moves, unless they want the same happen to them,"  
said the stunningly beautiful dark lady (Were those roses adorning her background?) now making her grand entrance, with what appeared to be a self-driving pink van following her from behind. "You of Kiga should all know how his power cannot protect you from mine."

With her growing fear that they're again targeted by the dangerous Terrorist Group – the one behind her sister's death / her parents' divorce / her life being ruined – confirmed, Ringo could do little but breathe open-mouthed as she and the other girls watched the surreal confrontation unfold.

Numbly, the girl noted how there was this mouse-sized, monkey-like creature (its pelt shaded in dull purple identical to that of the egg bombs) perched upon the lady's delicate shoulder, and that it was playing with a remote console with such glee, it came very close to knocking against its owner's elaborate up-do (how rich and long her hair must be when unbound). She also noticed the change coming over that woman who apparently called the shots amongst the gathered terrorists – while coolly arrogant before, she now was shaking like some unsteady stick-insect as she glared at the lady in acute hatred and fear . . .

"Hi-me-mi-ya . . . !"

"As the one who've sent the ladies their invitations, I do believe their meeting is with me," said the lady called Himemiya, voluminous red gown flaring adrift as she stepped up towards the girls with her flowery smile. "Children of Fate, we finally meet."

* * *

Time: 6 years pre-revolution  
Place: Tokyo, Ikebukuro-bound Marunouchi Line Train

As the people around her were changed, so too did her surroundings.

The interior of the train, once pallid and ordinary, now was covered with striking red wheel motifs rotating against a dark indigo backdrop. The windows no longer displayed any scenery, but rather, a thick darkness tinted with murky crimson. Only the teddies remained unchanged, though they now appeared unnervingly ominous against the transformed, emptied space.

"Umm . . . hello? Is anyone here?"

Scared and uncertain, Utena was stumbling awkwardly past the teddy-littered train cars in search of her disappeared parents, when she heard this languid, husky voice coming from up ahead.

" . . . boxes make the people confined forget: their real selves, the things they love . . . the people they love. And so, I left my box . . ."

Someone was seated up ahead . . . someone whose visage was semi-obscured under the sharp contrasts of indigo shades and red lights. Squinting her eyes, she could make out impressions of long hair and limbs, arrayed in a casual pose suggesting haughty indolence.

"I've been chosen by the Ends of the World," purred the man, staring down upon some small child standing in front of him, "that's why I'll be the one to end this world." The child spoken to was apparently that strange, diary-carrying girl who talked down on her just moments ago.

"I'm Momoka," said the girl.

"I'm Sanetoshi," replied the (strikingly pretty up close) man.

"I am going to banish you from this world."

"Electrifying. How will you do it?"

Amber eyes glacial, the startlingly mature Momoka girl raised up her diary. "There's a spell to transfer fate written in here. I'll recite it to save everyone, and cast a threat like you into eternal darkness."

"I see; so the Fate Diary fell into a child's hand." Back straightening, the pretty man called Sanetoshi hardened his rabbit-red eyes. "If you're going to interrupt my fun, then I'll trap you within my curse."

"Watase," a plain older man – one not immediately noticeable when beside the stunning biseinen – put down his cell phone before leaning over to speak urgently in Sanetoshi's ear. "You-know-who just gave the order that this one is of great value to our cause, and must be captured unharmed along with the Fate Train!"

"Did he now?" Sanetoshi's hardened gaze remained locked against Momoka's; at his response, the older man hissed in outrage and fright.

"Watase . . .!"

*Flap . . .*

Flipping open the now aglow pink diary, Momoka started reciting what must be her spell – one with powerful syllables seemingly hammering against the very _scenery_, leaving visible cracks against space itself. The eerie wheel motifs flickered on and off against the indigo dimness, and Utena realized she could again see the many passengers semi-lucent against the train's again "normalizing" interior.

_" . . . te-na . . . !"_

A hand, warm and familiar, clasped onto her shoulder. Turning, the girl saw a couple with much of their facial features eeriely "blanked out" standing from behind, with their agitated postures suggesting acute urgency: it took seeing their clothes for the girl to tell who these eerie entities really were.

"Papa . . . Mama?!"

From behind them, the numerous black teddies littered around flickered their red eyes in perfect union, right before a brilliant white aura engulfed the train's interior. Cries – one girlish and shrill, the other manly and savage – cut at her nerves like a swarm of glass shards. Impressions, vague and insubstantial against the searing light, fluttered past her vision: half a girl, half a man; a hat, a rabbit; two hats, two rabbits. Together they fell into the darkness and out of the light, out of the world and into nowhere . . . and then . . .

_( . . . giggles, girlish and shrill, echoed as if from afar . . .)_

_. . . and then . . ._

_( . . . shadows sharpened into humanoid silhouettes: long of limbs, narrow of torsos, theatrical of gestures . . .)_

_ . . . it's a three, a two, a one and go!_

_Do you know? Do you know?_

_There's this ultra-dramatic story unfolding as we speak!_

_The interrupted childhood! The shattered life!_

_Currently performed LIVE: Fate **Coffin** Exchange!_

_There once was a little girl happily playing princess in her comfortable little coffin by the name of Beauty . . ._

_(Little Girl (singing in coffin): I am pretty, oh so pretty . . .)_

_. . . until just now, when this anvil called Orphanhood fell out of the blue, smashing her coffin and leaving her exposed!_

_(Little Girl (crying as she stumbled blindly about): Papa! Mama!)_

_So where does the girl go from here? Into what new coffin shall she hide behind this time? What new role is she to play?!_

_Yesterday's princess!_

_Today's orphan!_

_Tomorrow's . . . what? What?!_

_(Utena: Hey, how come you guys don't have faces?)_

_. . . we don't?_

_Well, it's not that we don't have faces._

_It's just that most people can neither face death nor the dead, that's all._

_(Utena: Eh?)_

_Pssst . . . too much exposition at this point in the story!_

_Oops . . ._

_Anyway! The Exchange is about to commence - it's best we don't get in the way. So,_

_until_

_next_

_time . . . !_

. . . she came to underneath this warm, heavy weight piled atop her, pressing her down and blocking off her view. There was the scent of smoke, the sounds of sirens and frantic footsteps, and a feeling of scorching heat coming from the floor . . .

" . . . to think the terrorists would target the morning commute . . ."

". . . these two don't look like they're dressed for the office. Why're they even on this early train?"

" . . . see a child under them!"

Hands, calloused and large, moved the weight (Bodies?) off of her. It was a nondescript policeman, one of many now swarming all over the wreckage the train car was now reduced to.

"She's alive!" He called out to the others around him. "Get the medics over here quick!"

"Papa . . . Mama . . ." gasped the little girl, startled by the hoarseness of her now brittle voice; the policeman's expression was one of pained empathy.

"Shhh . . . it's alright, kiddo. We'll get you to the hospital, contact your relatives, and-"

" . . . ama . . .? Papa . . .?!"

"Oh . . ."

Alarmed, the child turned her head to look frantically around . . . before freezing up upon seeing just what she had been squashed under from before.

They were human bodies charred by heat and smoke; with their faces darkened, these looked every bit as featureless as those many other burned corpses from all around the wrecked train car.

She saw that they were garbed in the tattered remains of her parents' clothes.

Just like that, the little princess was rendered an orphan. The happy, pampered existence she had thought would last forever had shattered like glass. Her Mama was no longer pretty, her Papa could no longer take pictures . . . what good was their work being eternally renowned, when they were no longer even alive? What good were the pretty clothes and accessories she had been so eager to don, now that she no longer had anyone to aspire to become? What good was . . . anything?

She was the fool who just got her parents killed, by making them take her _shopping._

If eternity did not exist, if beauty meant nothing . . . then why should anything even matter?

" . . . alive . . . so sickening . . ." muttered the traumatized young child, her vision darkening as if from a heavy lid falling over her world.

Life, as 8-year-old Tenjou Utena once knew it, was over.

* * *

Time: 10 years post-revolution  
Place: Chida Mansion

Having re-grouped in the antiquated yet comfy living room, the Duelists now were trying their best keep up with the latest development.

"So far, there still hasn't been any notable news about the Sunshine City Aquarium," muttered Miki, diligently flipping though the many news pages on his tablet, which he currently shared with a crease-browed Juri.

"Seeing the anchors literally being empty-headed make them more tolerable somehow," mused Kozue, huddled school-girl-like against Shiori and Wakaba on the adjacent couch, from where they all shared the same laptop.

"No news, even though the battle must've begun already," Shiori bit down upon her lower lip. "That 'spiritual barrier' the Kiga Group has over the area must've been quite something." Beside her, Wakaba slapped a palm over her bleary eyes.

"Who'd have thought that _magical terrorists_ could even exist in this world?"

At that, Juri let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "Magical terrorists backed by a magical old-money clan owning a magical private boarding school . . . talk about taking us all back in time." She blinked at noticing something. "Low battery . . ."

"We packed the charger coming over," assured Miki, already looking around for his trusty apprentice. "Tsuwabuki-kun, can you get us the . . ."

"Touga-sempai didn't really mean to snap at you – you're his only sister," cooed Tsuwabuki, serving Nanami coffee with boyish attentiveness. "He was probably still in a daze, not used to being in this strange place and all . . ."

Downcast, Nanami merely let the younger man fuss on over her as she sipped her coffee in silence; members of the on-looking old gang let out variations of the same soft sigh.

"Talk about taking us back," muttered Wakaba, before her large brown eyes widened at what she suddenly noticed on the page they had been browsing. "This is . . . ?"

* * *

Time: 6 years pre-revolution  
Place: Outskirts of Kiryuu Estate

"Told you it was gonna rain."

They were two boys on a tandem bike, braving the cold evening drizzle as they rode under stormy skies; the path they were on, shrouded under murky darkness, appeared infinite from their point of view.

"That's why I told you to stop at the 10th match: you got me really worn out."

Kyouichi's persisting murmur, coming from behind, drilled into Touga's ears like an old song, warming him with its familiarity.

"Oh, well," shrugged the redhead, all the while acutely conscious of the other's grip around his waist. "There isn't anyone good enough to practice with besides you."

He could practically feel Kyouchi's blushing from the heat of the boy's face, now pressed against his back.

"Well . . . I guess . . . "

Touga rolled his eyes, but could not keep from blushing himself. Kyouichi can be such a _girl_ sometimes.

Although, not all the time.

Just earlier that day, back at the kendo dojo where they have been taking lessons, Touga had to act very fast to stop his friend from splitting open another kid's head with his bokken.

It was all over something trivial: the junior kendo students gathered together taking meaningless verbal jabs against each other, all just part of the standard children's banter . . . before one of the lads unknowingly made the mistake of saying the following:

_" . . . bet your dad gave you the whooping of your life for it, eh?"_

It took Touga hastily pouncing Kyouichi to stop a berserk moment that had almost exploded in public; he even had to put on a show of them being in some kind of playful scuffle, such that the other kids ended up laughing along, with no idea that they had only narrowly missed a violent scene.

After class, after the other kids had since left, the precocious redhead purposely kept his (now awkward seeming) friend behind via a prolonged practice session – one designed to help the other boy let off what tension and rage still bottled-up inside.

Touga knew his friend - and comrade, and fellow victim - like he knew himself.

Indeed, the abuses the corrupted grownups used to inflict upon them had stopped, as per his deal with Mrs. Ohtori from two years past. Nanami was no longer held hostage, Kyouichi was no longer physically abused, and he himself was no longer under sexual slavery; all this was because he had agreed to become one of the Devil's many witches – a role he would have to take up full time soon, when all three of them are to start attending Ohtori starting the coming Fall.

The abuses they suffered had stopped; but the fear, shame, and uncertainly imprinted upon their minds had never really gone away. Even now, they still were victims suffering under shadows; suffering on their own in the blind spots of the world's scenery.

*. . . dong . . .dong . . . dong . . .*

The peals of heavy bells, coming against the dull thunders in the backdrop, startled the boy out of his trance and into stopping.

Stopping, because he saw.

"What is it, Touga?" asked Kyouichi; Touga barely heard what his friend just said.

There, up ahead on their path, stood a towering, imposing man veiled under the night rain. It could be that he had a very dark complexion, as Touga could see nothing of the man's features, but only his white hair and uniform, contrasted against the red lining of his vast cape to dramatic effects.

The scent of roses hung moist and cloying in the air.

"Touga, why'd you stop?" asked Kyouichi again, seemingly oblivious to the strange man standing in their way.

_"Witch."_

The word, spoken right into Touga's mind as if via telepathy, sent the boy jolting. So . . . _this_ was the Devil to whom he had signed away his life and future.

Raising a broad hand in a poised, commanding gesture, the Devil pointed to the side, where a church building stood as imposing backdrop behind a small graveyard; a scattering of black-suited men could be seen checking around the tallish grave marks doing a search.

"Touga . . . ?" Kyouichi was starting to sound wary now. Heart pounding, Touga had to gulp quietly before he could speak up in what he hoped was a nonchalant voice.

" It's a funeral."

* * *

**End Part Fourteen**

[1] The Magician is the name Sanetoshi calls himself in Penguindrum.

[2] Princess of the Crystal is Oginome Momoka's ghost form.

[3] Having dropped various visual / behavioral hints throughout the scene, I am certain that most SKU fans would've realized who this "Captain" is by now.

[4]It's "Top of The World" by the Carpenters.


End file.
